All's Fair
by Varietygirl9143
Summary: COMPLETE “Granger! Listen to me: we’re in the middle of a war. The only way to ensure survival is to not get involved, to not get too close. That’s the best way.” Not DH compliant, postHBP, AU BZHG, previously All's Fair in Love and War
1. Departure

Disclaimer: **All the usual, don't own anything but this absolutely amazing plot** (ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit). **It all belongs to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.**

A/N: **please be kind, this is my first attempt at a Blaise/Hermione. Oh, and just thought I'd warn you: I've been told I'm better off writing humor** (those of you who've read my other fics can testify to that!) **than fluff. So this is just about as fluffy as it's going to get, unless of course I can get some help, maybe from a beta** (hint, hint!).

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"But you kissed me!"

Blaise Zabini's long stride carried him farther down the corridor and away from the girl behind him who was now running to catch up. He turned unexpectedly into another passageway. He didn't have to concentrate, he knew Hogwarts like the back of his hand. He looked up and saw raindrops streaming down the window. Not at all a good day for flying….

Blaise stopped abruptly, causing the girl to almost run into his back. He turned swiftly and grabbed her shoulders, steadying her.

"We're in the middle of a war, Granger," he said simply, looking down at her and watching her brown eyes flash.

"So? That didn't seem to matter last night," Granger replied heatedly, folding her arms against her chest defiantly.

Blaise blinked in shock. How dare she! They'd both agreed to not mention last night and here was Granger, Gryffindor's golden girl, going back on her word? Unbelievable.

He released her, still gazing at her in utter surprise.

"Hermione—"

"Oh, don't even start! Don't even think about 'Hermione'ing me! You said—"

"Granger! Listen to me: we're in the middle of a war. The only way to ensure survival is to not get involved, to not get too close. That's the best way."

"Dammit, Zabini, you said you loved me!" Hermione took a step closer, her eyes narrowed, and put her index finger against his chest, punctuating her next words with a few sharp jabs. "But none of that — really— meant anything to you — did it?"

Blaise rubbed the spot she'd been poking at.

"No, Hermione, it meant plenty to me," he said wearily, but smiling slightly as she glared at the use of her first name. "It's just better for both of us if I leave."

Hot tears rolled down Hermione's cheeks. She knew his decision was final and that there was nothing she could do to stop him. He was leaving, disappearing like every other good thing in her life.

He brushed her tears gently away with his thumb, resting his hand on her cheek momentarily before pulling her into a hug.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, taking comfort in the feeling of safety. He bent his head to whisper soothingly into her ear, "None of that now. There, stop crying, Hermione. Your face will get all red."

She smiled faintly up at him, "you'll come back though, won't you?"

Blaise kissed her forehead and replied, "I really don't know."

With that he turned and left her standing there, in an empty Hogwarts corridor, very much alone.

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**Short, I know, but think of it as an appetizer! Hmm, that wasn't the greatest analogy….**

**Anyway, reviews are appreciated. And in case you didn't catch my hint at the beginning, anyone interested in beta-ing, please PM me or say so in your review!**

**Now review, it's rather easy, you just click the purple button marked 'go' in the bottom left corner, type nice things about how wonderful I am, and then you click submit. See? This isn't terribly difficult is it?**


	2. Just Hermione

**A/N: thanks to all who reviewed!**

**Including ****FanFicFanatick****Do you know Emily Davison****psycho slytherin killer****, and ****Whitelight72****. You guys rock!**

**A **_**huge**_** thank-you to my beta (****Do you know Emily Davison****). Thank the beta, people. Why? Because now this chapter is much less confusing!**

**oh, sorry about all the flashbacks. i wasn't too happy that there were so many, but i thought they were necessary for a bit of background information. and just fyi, they don't really come in chronological order.**

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Hermione sank slowly into a hot bath. She knew she was doing it for the emotional value, as she'd always hated baths. They were such a waste of time.

She sipped a mug of hot chocolate as she sat in the tub, a meditative look on her face. She let her thoughts wander as she replayed the moments she had treasured but had been cut short far too soon.

**--**Flashback--

"_Blaise, really, you shouldn't drink that much coffee. Honestly, it's appalling that anyone can consume that vast an amount," Hermione said disgustedly as she sat in the Hogwarts kitchen, a favorite neutral meeting place, opposite Blaise._

_He finished his mug, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and grinned mischievously at the girl across the table._

"_Tell you what," he replied, watching her polish off her own mug of hot chocolate, "you're on, what, your fourth mug?"_

_Hermione raised her eyebrow and looked at him skeptically, "So?"_

"_You let me keep my bad habits and I'll let you keep yours." Blaise stuck his hand out in mock seriousness and Hermione shook it, returning his grin with a smile of her own._

--End Flashback--

Hermione smiled slightly into her hot chocolate. Blaise had a point; she did tend to drink a bit much….

But then again, it was his fault, really. He'd gotten her hooked on it because it provided a distraction from her homework.

--Flashback--

_Hermione was just writing the conclusion for her Potions' essay when someone covered her eyes, causing her to gasp._

_A low voice whispered into her ear, "Guess who?!"_

_She sighed heavily, keeping her head down._

"_Zabini, leave me alone. I'm trying to study here."_

_Blaise pouted playfully as he sat down in the chair across form her._

"_Granger, you don't let me have any fun! Would it kill you to relax?"_

_Hermione sighed again as he rested his chin on his chin so that he could see her face clearly._

"_Would it kill me? Hmm, let me think…. Probably, yeah. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to finish."_

_With that she bent her head once more over the Potions' essay and very stubbornly refused to look up._

_Blaise sat quietly for a few minutes, just watching her as she tried to fit just one more sentence onto the last inch of her parchment._

"_Stop doing that!" Hermione said abruptly, throwing her quill down and looking up at him angrily._

"_Doing what? I'm not doing anything!" Blaise put his hands up in a show of innocence._

"_You're watching me! Now _stop_ it," Hermione replied scathingly._

"_Hey, no reason to get angry over it, love. I'll stop watching, don't worry." He said calmly, turning slightly so he was no longer facing Hermione. "That better?"_

_Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again almost immediately, flustered._

_Blaise smirked slightly, careful not to look directly at her._

"_Why won't you leave me alone?" she asked finally._

"_Why don't you make me leave right away?" he countered. "Come on, Granger, you're perfectly capable of making me leave."_

_Hermione put her head in her hands and groaned._

_Blaise's face fell._

"_Alright, I'll leave; you can get back to work…. Though, can I just do one thing before I go?"_

_Hermione's voice came, somewhat muffled, from through her hands, "Fine. Just say whatever it is fast."_

"_Oh, I wasn't going to _say_ anything," Blaise said loftily._

_Hermione's head snapped up, "What?"_

_Leaning down, Blaise pecked her on the cheek before she could say anything else._

_Then he strolled casually from the library, leaving Hermione open mouthed at the table, her Potions' essay forgotten._

--End Flashback--

Hermione shook her head, bemused. She still didn't know how Blaise had gotten the courage to do that.

She took another sip from her mug before placing it on the side of the bath. She looked out the high stained-glass window. Raining. Again.

Hermione pursed her lips, why was it _always_ raining lately? It had been the exact same weather, a steady downpour, since Blaise had left five days ago.

"How awful," she said, frowning. "I can't imagine more dreadful weather."

But there she was again, rambling on about the weather.

Harry had said she was rambling a lot lately. Ron told her she'd been more aggressive towards homework lately.

Ginny had, of course, been the only one to connect the dots. She had been so comforting, willing to sit and listen while Hermione just talked.

Hermione settled herself against the back of the bath. The smooth surface above the water level felt as cold as stone.

--Flashback--

_Blaise's radiant smile seemed to light up the night._

_He reached up and grabbed Hermione's arm, gently pulling her down to sit with him against the stone wall of the Astronomy Tower._

"_I must admit, I didn't think you'd come," he said, breaking the silence._

_Hermione kept her eyes on the brilliant sunset spelled out before them and replied, "I wasn't sure I'd come either. But then you kissed me in the middle of the corridor and…."_

"_And what? You wanted me to do it again?" Blaise teased lightly, turning his head to look at the girl beside him._

"_Well, I wanted to know _why_ exactly you did it in the first place," Hermione finished, glancing over at him and meeting his gaze momentarily._

"_Why? I suppose you could call it am impulse," Blaise mused, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes._

_Hermione sat upright, "Come _on_, Zabini! Do you think I'm abnormally thickheaded? Nothing like that could've been called an impulse!"_

"_Temper, Granger," he said mildly, not even bothering to open his eyes._

_Hermione opened her mouth again, but, having run out of things to say, closed it again quickly and instead pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest._

_Blaise opened one eye._

"_Oh good, you're through. Now, care to explain to me why you _really_ came up here?"_

_Hermione stared at him._

"_Well, I never—"_

"_I'm waiting, Granger."_

"_Ooh, you! I swear—"_

"_Do I have to kiss you again, Hermione?"_

"_What?!"_

"_I said—"_

"_No, I heard _that_. But you called me 'Hermione'…."_

"_Are you objecting?"_

"_Well…."_

"_Hermione, it's a very simple answer. I'll give you a hint: it starts with 'n' and it ends with 'o'."_

"_I'm warning you, Zabini: one more crack like that and I'm leaving."_

_Blaise sat quietly, watching as the first stars became visible._

_Finally Hermione spoke hesitantly, "Though, I suppose, I _would_ rather like it if you did it again."_

"_It took you _much _too long to come to that conclusion," Blaise grinned._

_Hermione edged slightly away from him, stalling. "But, um, why… I came…."_

"_Yes. Why _did_ you come?" he replied, keeping his eyes on the night sky._

"_Because there was nothing better for me to do."_

"_Granger, don't lie to me."_

"_What makes you think I was lying?!"_

"_Draco Malfoy is one of my best mates. Trust me; I know when people lie to me."_

"_Oh…. I guess I came because I was curious."_

"_Dangerous thing, curiosity."_

"_Yeah, look where it's landed me," Hermione grumbled, making him laugh._

--End Flashback--

Hermione bit her lower lip as she thought about how _right_ it had felt to be with Blaise. For the first time in her life, she had felt complete, whole, and utterly _happy_.

Ginny had said that she was glowing. Harry and Ron had, of course, been oblivious. But, as far as she was concerned, that had been fine. She hadn't told anyone about Blaise, he'd just been some sort of secret; he was part of a different side of her life.

To him, she hadn't been Granger the Mudblood or Granger the Know-it-all. She hadn't been the Gryffindor Bookworm or free homework help. She had been Hermione. Just Hermione.

She had been someone who mattered. Not because of her affiliation with Harry, but because she was Hermione.

For the first time since she'd come to Hogwarts, she felt special—special because she was loved.

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**Now review! It isn't too difficult.**


	3. Shacklebolt

**you should all feel very special: I went through two drafts of this! TWO! and this second one was without being beta-ed. so if there are errors, blame me not the beta. and if there are parts you don't get, put 'em in your review (hint, hint) and i'll try to explain it!**

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Blaise felt like a coward. Seeing Hermione's tears had been like a dagger through his heart. Yet, he'd still run away. He'd walked away like an emotionless monster, even after hearing her beg him not to go.

But he had gone. He'd gone because, in his heart, he'd known since the beginning of last year that he wouldn't finish school at Hogwarts. It wasn't that he didn't like it there, far from it; Hogwarts was the first real home he had had. But he also knew that, in the end, there was no room for him here; just like there was no room for him at any other place he had ever come close to calling home.

He hadn't doubted his decision to leave. He had made a plan and he was going to stick to it, no matter what. But now, as he sat in the Ministry of Magic building, he was starting to have second thoughts. But sitting here made him realize that those doubts had always been there — always lingering at the back of his mind; waiting to come when he least expected it and when his guard was down.

Blaise looked around nervously at the stark waiting room. It was painted a bleak off-white color that made the room seem almost cold. He shivered ever so slightly and slid further down in his vinyl chair, trying to remain inconspicuous.

The witch behind the desk looked at him curiously.

At length, the young reception-witch coughed politely and asked, "Can I help you, sir?"

Blaise didn't look up; he wasn't used to being addressed as 'sir.' Especially not by someone so close to his own age.

"Sir?"

Still no response.

--Flashback--

_Blaise and Hermione sat together on the sofa in the Head Girl's room, talking animatedly._

"_Well, why couldn't we be partners in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Blaise asked, shrugging his shoulders. "_I_ see no problem with it."_

_Hermione shook her head, "but can you imagine Snape's reaction? I can see it right now, 'Professor, could I partner with Blaise instead of Ron? I'd rather work with the guy I'm secretly going out with. Even though we do realize that he's a Slytherin and I'm a Gryffindor.' Wouldn't that go over well?" She finished sarcastically._

"_I'd say you had pretty good taste," Blaise teased, cocking his head to one side._

"_Oh, stop it!" Hermione laughed, whacking him playfully on the arm. _

"_Besides," he continued, "I don't give a damn about what Snape says. Personally, I think he's a bloody git."_

_Hermione snuggled closer to him on the couch and said, "you have no idea how much it warms my heart to hear a Slytherin talk that way about the old bastard."_

_Blaise chuckled and replied, "Anything for you." _

_He wrapped his arms around and pulled her onto his lap. He started to kiss her softly but stopped suddenly._

"_What's wrong?" Hermione asked, enjoying the rare moment of intimacy. _

"_There is — something poking me in the middle — of my back!" he answered, stretching to remove the offending object._

_It turned out to be a small, gray book which had been hidden by the cushions. _

_He was about to discard it when the title caught his eye.  
_

"_The Complete Greek Tragedies?" _

"_Yes, it's fascinating! I really like Agamemnon. Though Prometheus Bound is also very interesting; and you can't forget The Eumenides!" Hermione said excitedly._

"_Don't tell me you read _this_ for fun?" Blaise exclaimed, a look of horror on his face._

_Hermione looked up at him, agitated._

"_Why is it that boys always find reading so—"_

"_The Roman plays are much more entertaining," he cut her of, smiling slyly at her._

_Hermione's jaw dropped._

"_You read—"_

"_Yeah."_

"_My god."_

"_Surprised?"_

"_To say the least."_

"_How about 'impressed'?"_

"_Undeniably."_

"_See, you have good taste: you not only have an incredibly cultured and well-read man but a real looker too," Blaise said proudly._

"_Blaise! You're almost as self-centered as Malfoy."_

"_Now you're comparing me to my best friend? Has he been hitting on you again, Hermione?" _

"_Malfoy? Ew, no!" Hermione said, horrified at the thought of anything having to do with Malfoy._

"_Good. He may be my best friend, but I'd be willing to sacrifice it if he came anywhere near you." Blaise replied defensively, giving Hermione a quick squeeze._

"_You'd have to dig him up first: Ron and Harry would probably murder him."_

"_Well, that won't do, only I'm allowed to murder people on your behalf!" Blaise teased her._

"_But what if Harry and Ron get to Malfoy first?" she asked, as practical as ever._

"_Hey, if anyone kills Draco, it's going to be me. It's a thing reserved for close friends and close friends only. Besides, I'll just tell _your_ friends that they're simply not permitted to lay a hand on him," Blaise answered in mock disdain._

"_I don't think that will stop them…." Hermione smiled._

"_Well, then I'll tell them: life's hard; get a _hemlet_." _

"_You mean a helmet?"_

"_Yeah, a hemlet," he repeated._

"_Blaise, it's called a helm— oh never mind."_

--End Flashback--

"Mairi? Come here; this fellow's just sitting here. He's not answered any of my questions!" The reception-witch began to babble, twirling a strand of her long blonde hair in her fingers, "Do you think he's a homeless wizard? Gwendolyn was talking about them today on the radio and she says their absolutely dreadful and—"

A tall brunette came up behind her colleague and tapped her on the shoulder, "Charlotte?"

The younger witch sighed, "Yes, I know, shut up before I say something I can't take back."

"Exactly. Now, using as few words as possible, what was the problem?"

"Him." Charlotte declared and pointed at him. Blaise recognized her as the witch who had been behind the desk. Charlotte then looked at him, waiting to hear Mairi's judgment on him.

He stared unabashedly into the young witch's eyes. She held his gaze for a few moments but then turned suddenly, cowering behind the taller woman.

"Mairi, he's doing it again! Make him stop," Charlotte whimpered, peeking at him from behind Mairi's shoulder.

"Don't be silly, Charlotte." Mairi replied, rolling her eyes. "He's just doing it to scare you."

Turning her attention to Blaise, Mairi asked him, "Is there something we can do for you, sir?"

"I need to see Shacklebolt," he croaked, his throat painfully sore after not having spoken to anyone in the two weeks it took to travel from Hogwarts to London.

"Do you have an appointment?" Mairi questioned him.

"An appointment? No—"

"We cannot let you in without an appointment, sir," she explained calmly, dismissing Blaise's look of distress with a wave of her hand.

"But it's important!" he pressed.

"That's what the last guy said too," Mairi said, obviously unconvinced.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt is a very good friend of my mother. Here, give him this; he'll know me," Blaise replied, frustrated. He slipped a ring off his finger and placed it in Mairi's hand.

She examined it curiously. It was an ancient looking thing, made of silver. The band was shaped like an adder devouring its tail. The eyes were made of tiny emeralds embedded in the top of the ring.

"Let me guess," she smirked, "old family heirloom. You're a Slytherin, right?"

"Yes; now please hurry, it's urgent," he said quickly.

Mairi raised her eyebrow, but turned on her heel, sending Charlotte scurrying back behind her desk.

Blaise sat back down and watched Mairi disappear into the maze of cubicles. She returned a few minutes later, a look of disgust on her face.

"Follow me," she said brusquely, holding the glass door open for him.

He came to the door and put his hand on it, motioning Mairi to lead the way.

She nodded, showing she understood. She walked swiftly down a hall filled with cubicles on both sides. He could hear her muttering about breaches of conduct and how things never happened this way.

Left turn. More cubicles, placed even closer together.

Right turn. The close space in the hall was beginning to make Blaise feel claustrophobic.

Right turn again. Mairi stopped suddenly and he almost ran into her.

"You should pay more attention, _sir_," she said crisply. "Mr. Shacklebolt's office is right here" — she gestured at the door in front of them — "oh and he wanted me to give this back to you."

She held the ring out for him to take. She looked contemplatively at it, even after he had closed his fingers around it.

"It's odd, really…" Mairi said softly. "I've never seen him look like that. He took one glance at your ring there and seemed to know exactly what was going on, even before I said anything. 'Bring him in,' he told me. And then his face got all serious and he looked lost… like in a memory. You know?"

He looked thoughtfully at her. After a moment he replied.

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean."

She nodded slowly, then said, "You'd best go in. He's waiting for you."

Blaise turned and knocked on the door, unsure of what sort of welcome his unexpected visit would merit.

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**now review! **


	4. Firewhiskey

**A/N: A _huge_ thank-you to my beta (_you keep changing your name! I don't know what to call you anymore!)_ and to all of you who reviewed. It means quite a lot to me to hear what you all have to say. **

**Disclaimer: still don't own it. **

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"Enter."

Blaise shuddered, struggling to repress the memories that the voice behind the door evoked.

He turned the brass knob, took a deep breath and entered Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. It was almost entirely made of a sleek, dark wood (Blaise suspected cherry wood), accented by glossy black leather chairs, the first comfortable seating he'd seen in weeks.

Kingsley greeted him with a broad smile and a handshake, dispelling all of Blaise's worries.

"Blaise, how are you? Please, come in and sit, you look exhausted!"

"Well it's a long trip from Hogwarts."

"My god, you didn't! Did you?"

"Take another look at me, there's your answer."

"Ah, you're right. Damn, you look awful. Care for a drink?"

"Please. Something strong if you have any; though knowing you, I'm betting you do."

The older man laughed as he poured two glasses of fire whiskey. Handing one to Blaise, he sat down in a leather chair across from the boy.

"So tell me, what brings you here to London?" Kingsley asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

Blaise didn't answer.

Instead he drank his whiskey, grimacing at the pain it caused as it traveled down his raw throat.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Blaise correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm getting the idea that this isn't a purely social, call."

Silence.

"Care to explain?"

"I left," Blaise said sullenly.

"Well that's obvious," Kingsley replied with a toothy grin.

"No; this time for good."

The room went deathly quiet.

"So you've finally done it, have you?" the Auror said softly, breaking their heavy silence. "Were you followed? Does anyone know you're here?"

Blaise shook his head, "I took every precaution and more."

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully, "Good, good…. Are you sure you want to go through with it?"

"You, of all people, should know better than to ask me that! Of course I'm going through with it. Why wouldn't I?" Blaise asked heatedly, slamming his empty glass down on the coffee table in front of him.

"Let's see," Kingsley said, counting on his fingers, "you'd become an outlaw, as far as the Ministry's concerned; you'd be surrounded by people that you are, historically, supposed to hate; if you were found out, it would be as good as handing yourself over to You-know-who on a silver platter! Is that enough for you?"

"Don't make me change my mind," Blaise replied darkly, "I've come too far for that to happen."

The older man sipped his fire whiskey, unperturbed as usual. "You've thought it through then, have you?"

Blaise smirked half-heartedly at the irony, "tell me, sir: have you ever known me to not think something through?"

"Blaise, I know your Mother always insisted upon it, but there's really no need to call me 'sir'," Kingsley said lightly.

Blaise made no reply. He ran his finger around the rim of his glass absentmindedly, going over in his mind the last memories he had of his Mother; the preoccupied gesture eliciting a sympathetic look from his Mother's friend.

After a moment Kingsley spoke gently, "It's not your fault, you know."

Blaise nodded unenthusiastically.

"You shouldn't blame yourself for things you have no control over… it's not healthy," Kingsley pressed. "You need to let it go; what's done is done."

Blaise shifted uncomfortably in his chair, carefully avoiding the Auror's steady gaze. He knew what Kingsley wanted to hear him say; it was the same thing Dumbledore had wanted to hear. But knowing what was wanted of him didn't make it any easier to say.

An awkward silence filled the room as Kingsley waited for Blaise to make some sort of reply.

Finally Blaise spoke, "You're right. I shouldn't blame myself, but I do. And that's the whole reason I'm going through with it— it's for her."

A shadow of a smile passed over Kingsley face before he said briskly, "Right. Now, what's the news from Hogwarts?"

"Draco's been talking about me"

"No!"

"I'm afraid so. What's worse is that He's expressed interest in me."

Kingsley groaned, "Blaise, you do understand the gravity of this, don't you?"

"Of course! It could ruin the whole thing."

"Trust a Malfoy to muff it up," Kingsley sighed, rubbing his temples.

Blaise stifled a snigger. Draco did have a tendency to unknowingly spoil things, whether for better or worse.

The two men sat in silence, Kingsley absentmindedly swilling his drink around the crystal glass in his hand; Blaise staring intently at the dark wood floor of the office. The elegant clock on Kingsley's desk kept time with its gentle ticking.

At length Kingsley raised his head to look at the teen in front of him, "You'll need a place to stay."

He phrased it not as a question, but as a definite fact, which they both knew it was. Blaise met his strong gaze and nodded, passing a hand across his eyes. He was very much ready for a hot bath and a long nap. The weariness that he had managed to evade for the past two weeks was finally catching up to him.

Kingsley's voice broke through his longing thoughts of the delicious bath that was waiting for him, wherever he ended up going.

"It's much too dangerous for you to stay with me, unfortunately. I'd love to have you over, Blaise, but it'd be risking the whole operation. It's going to be hard enough with Malfoy interfering," he added darkly, hand tightening around his fire whiskey.

"So you're going to turn me out?" Blaise said gloomily, "That _would_ probably be best."

He got to his feet, the dreams of a bath for his poor aching muscles dissipating quickly.

"Not at all," Kingsley replied, amusement evident in his black eyes. "I've made arrangements for you; I hope you don't mind."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, echoing the older man, he murmured, "not at all…."

Sensing his friend's curiosity, Kingsley continued, "You'll be staying with Mairi. She doesn't live too far away and she's graciously agreed to let you stay with her for a few weeks. Or until… you're moved."

Blaise's lip curled in displeasure.

"You've put me with that bi—"

"Careful, Blaise, she's standing right outside the door."

Blaise paled visibly. What was wrong with him? He had been raised to treat women better than that. He was beginning to sound a bit more like Draco than he cared to.

Kingsley stood looking at him for a moment longer, than ushered him out the office.

Mairi was indeed right outside. She was standing across the hall, leaning her back against a cubicle wall, her arms crossed over her chest and a look of utter distaste on her face.

Blaise couldn't help but smirk, it was the same look Hermione gave him when they talked about Draco.

Forgetting for a moment that it wasn't Hermione in front of him, he said, "You know that scowl does absolutely nothing for your face, my dear."

Mairi looked at him sharply. "Don't ever call me that again. Ever."

"Sorry," he muttered, embarrassed that he had been caught in a daydream, even if Mairi didn't know it.

"Are you ready yet?" Mairi continued impatiently. "I for one am very eager to leave this hell-hole."

Blaise cocked his head to one side, "Why's a lady like you using words like that?"

"Mr. Zabini, I may work for the Ministry but at least I have the guts to admit that this place is going to the dogs."

This earned her another raised eyebrow.

"Well? Are you done with Mr. Shacklebolt? I haven't all day," she reminded him, sounding completely irritated.

Blaise nodded, eager himself to get away from the close spaces of the Ministry.

"Come on then," Mairi said, "grab hold of my arm."

Blaise must have looked slightly shocked, for Mairi smirked suddenly and added, "so you can side-along when I Apperate, you git."

He sighed in relief, though he wasn't really sure what he was relieved about. But he stepped closer to Mairi and cupped his hand around her elbow with little or no hesitation.

His last thought as Mairi Apperated them to her apartment was of Hermione and what she would think if she could see him now: all glory gone, all pride forgotten, humbly letting a stranger bring him to her home.

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Kingsley watched the two young people through the one-way window in his office.

As they Disapperated, he moved quickly to his desk, pulling out parchment and a quill. He scrawled two words on the parchment, folded it carefully, sealed it with his wand and then tied it to the leg of a magnificent ebony barn owl. He carried it to the window, undid the catch and watched as the owl soared off, seemingly into the sun.

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On the other side of London, a tired-looking man stood, scanning the sky for any sign of movement. His alert eyes picked up a shape flying in and around the run-down houses surrounding the Square he was in.

The owl landed gracefully on the man's arm and stayed only long enough to allow him to untie a small piece of folded parchment.

It contained only two words:

_He's here._

-------

**I know, I'm being terribly vague this time. And now there's all sorts of twists running around like what's up with Blaise's Mother, who the mysterious _He_ is that Draco's been talking to, and what's going on with Mairi! **

**You get a cookie if you can tell me who _He_ is. That means you'll need to review, hint hint.**


	5. Mudblood

**Alright, I apologize: it took me entirely too long to write this chapter. But in my defense, I need to say that I didn't think it was good enough at first and then, to top it all off, I got some minor writer's block. But here it is; enjoy!**

**If you have questions, review (hint hint!). I'm going to be making an FAQ section for this fic in my bio, but I'm not exactly sure when. Bear with me.**

**Also, a huge thanks to Serian for putting up with me and my wacky ideas. This chapter makes a whole lot more sense because of you!**

**Disclaimer: Pigs will someday fly and slugs will be the fastest creatures ever to walk (or crawl) this earth. But me own Harry Potter? That would be never.**

**Oh and the Ministry of Defense does exist. And its HQ is in Wethersfield. You can find it on the web. So… don't own it. And I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the world there _is_ a Margaret Kirk, so… sorry Ms. Kirk, don't own you either. ::ew::**

**-----**

"—An explosion at King's Cross Railway Station killed 15 and wounded an additional 12 this afternoon. Officials say that they have no proof as to the cause of the deadly blast but Ministry of Defense Officer Colin Hayes said earlier that we are most likely looking at some sort of mass conspiracy. An interview with the Chief Constable and the Prime Minister confirmed rumors that a group of London terrorists are suspected in what is being called yet another tragic bombing. Stay tuned for more information on this latest attack during your local news broadcast. Reporting from Ministry of Defense Head Quarters in Wethersfield, this is Margaret Kirk for the BBC News Radio."

Hermione snapped off her radio set and covered her face with her hands. This was no bomb threat. You-Know-Who was in his element — killing innocent Muggles who hadn't the slightest idea that there was a battle being waged around them. She knew it was no coincidence that the explosion had taken place between Platforms 9 and 10. Voldemort was trying to get past the magical barrier. He was desperately trying to get to Hogwarts; to Harry; to everyone.

Hermione threw herself down on her bed. Rolling over onto her back, she stared at the scarlet canopy above her four-poster.

_How in Merlin's name am I going to tell Harry?_

Well, it was going to be difficult, she could guess that much. Harry had been very moody ever since early July. He had told Professor McGonagall of his plan to leave Hogwarts and hunt down the four remaining horcruxes, but McGonagall had refused immediately.

Harry had been — understandably, Ron said — furious. He had shouted at McGonagall for what seemed like hours, telling her how much he (Harry) just wanted this war over with. But the Headmistress had not given in.

Afterwards, Harry was likely to explode whenever Voldemort was mentioned. Unfortunately, he hadn't grown out of it yet.

Hermione sighed and hugged her pillow to her stomach. After a moment she threw the pillow at the headboard in frustration.

_What must be done is best done sooner_, she thought grimly. _Though God help him if Harry yells at me._

Pulling herself slowly off of her bed, she smoothed her robes, took a deep breath, and walked resolutely down the girls' dormitory staircase.

-----

Harry was stretched out on one of the Gryffindor Common Room's many overstuffed scarlet couches. He was holding a book ("_The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _") in his hands, but was too busy staring into the fire to notice that it was slipping, slowly but surely, from his grip.

"Harry?"

A hesitant voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. His hands tightened automatically, a natural reflex after years of Quidditch, saving the book from its foreseeable fall.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

Harry turned to see Hermione standing on the bottom step of the stairs leading up to the dormitories, her uniform slightly wrinkled, almost as if she had been sleeping in it.

Harry nodded quickly and motioned his friend to come closer.

She took a few tentative steps into the Common Room, stopped, and said awkwardly, "Harry, I — I could… come back — later… if you want? I mean, if you're busy…."

Shaking his head, Harry replied, "No — of course not! I've just been a bit absentminded… that's all."

He patted the space on the couch next to him, scooting over so that she would have room to sit.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Harry asked gently, sensing her uneasiness.

"Yes," Hermione said quietly, sitting down on Harry's right. After a moment of silence, she continued, biting her lip, "Er, how's your scar, Harry? Doing any better?"

"Nah, still out of it," Harry rubbed the offending mark. "Especially this afternoon… for some reason it's throbbing harder than usual. Like He's been _enjoying_ himself or something… you know?"

Hermione paled visibly. Harry groaned at the sight of her face.

"Hermione, whatever you have to say, say it quickly," he said slowly, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the Dark Arts book tightened still more.

Hermione swallowed, she hadn't thought that this would be the way she would tell Harry the news about the supposed bombing.

"Well… Harry… there was an attack — at King's Cross—…." Her voice trailed off into a tense silence.

Harry gazed steadily at the worn red rug on the floor. Without lifting his head to look at Hermione, he asked faintly, "How many dead?"

"15. All Muggles as far as I know," she replied, waiting for the predicted outburst.

Harry, however, didn't move. He sat, motionless, on the couch, his hands cradling his head, staring at the floor as if in some sort of trance. Hermione sat next to him, unmoving; a feeling of utter helplessness washed over her. This emotion was one she had felt on only one occasion before. Usually books could help her; they held the answers for her, ready to be opened — to share the secrets of controlling oneself.

The last time she had felt this way was when Blaise had left her. When he had left Hogwarts. When he left everything. She wondered vaguely where he was, how he was getting on, if he was a captive or, worse, a victim of one of the brutal attacks. Gods, she missed him. Her heart ached anew every time she thought about him.

She hurt every day when she thought of him holding her tightly. It was painful to remember the things he had said to her, his mannerisms, his dry sense of humor, that biting wit of his. She dearly missed those casually intellectual conversations they had had while hiding in the library.

Hermione was startled out of her musings by Harry's voice, quiet, yet as hard and cold as stone.

"They didn't stand a chance."

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, unsure of what he was talking about.

"He's a coward. He's scared to stand and fight. Those Muggles didn't stand a chance. _Bloody coward,_" Harry said through his teeth. His hands tightened around his book once more, his fingers turning deathly white.

Hermione gently removed the book from Harry's grasp, setting it on the couch next to her before turning back to her friend, a concerned look evident on her face.

"Harry, listen, I know this is hard for you. Believe me when I say that it's hard for all of us. Ron and I are here for you, that's what friends are for; we're trying to _help_ you. But we can't help you if you shut us out." She looked pleadingly at Harry, willing him to understand.

Harry looked up at her helplessly, choking on unshed tears. Hermione noticed, not for the first time, that his eyes were unnaturally red and dull.

On an impulse she reached over and put her hand on Harry's shoulder. She felt him tense slightly under her touch; it pained her to think that one of her best friends, whom she knew to be so strong, could have become so weak and vulnerable. He was no longer the Reluctant Hero. He seemed so tired now, so worn out.

Harry searched Hermione's eyes, seeking comfort and reassurance.

"Hermione… I can't do this. I'm not strong enough to fight him; there's too many weaknesses."

Hermione shook her head mutely, feeling tears welling up in her own eyes. Finally she said in a strangled voice, "Oh, _Harry_!"

Wrapping her arms around her friend, she laid her head down on his shoulder and cried unashamedly.

-----

Hermione sat in her sanctuary, the library. Rubbing her red-rimmed eyes, she pulled out a sheaf of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink and set them on the table in front of her. She stood up suddenly and walked over to the Restricted Section, glancing around carefully for Madame Pince, before jumping over the rope and sneaking down the first dark aisle.

Hermione ran her hands down the spines of the huge tomes sitting on the shelf nearest her; she couldn't believe that she, _Hermione Granger_ of all people, had just snuck into the Restricted Section of the _library_! The very space she held sacred above all other places at Hogwarts! She _never_ broke rules concerning the library. At least, never before.

She half-smiled at the absurdity of it all, if only Blaise could see her now.

Her hand passed over volumes with names like _Horrible_ _Transformations_ and there was the book she had used in Second Year, _Moste Potente Potions_. But none of the titles looked at all helpful.

_I need something about Horcruxes,_ she thought, single-minded in her search. She firmly set herself to ignore the other fascinating books surrounding her, focusing only on finding _something_ about Horcruxes.

An hour later, she had had no such luck. She had found nothing more than a completely useless, passing reference to Horcruxes in _Magick Moste Evile_.

Packing her things away in her school bag, she wandered out of the library, a half-stunned look on her face. The library had never failed her before. The library had always had at least one book on every conceivable subject. Why did it have to be _this_ time that her trusty library didn't come through for her?

She walked through the corridors silently, trying to think of how in Merlin's name she could find out anything more about those bloody Horcruxes. _That_ was what she wanted most… to be able to help Harry by understanding more about Horcruxes.

Then it hit her.

"Of course…" she whispered, clapping a hand to her forehead. "But could it really be that simple?"

Nodding, as though to confirm her own thoughts, Hermione looked around wildly, trying to determine her current position. She had strayed farther than she had first thought, but right now it didn't matter, she was relatively close to her destination.

Hoisting her bag further up her shoulder, she ran up the nearest staircase and then through several corridors, finally coming to a stop in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

_Could it really be as simple as this? _Hermione thought again, putting her hand on the faded tapestry.

Just then another figure dashed down the corridor, breathing heavily. Hermione groaned, here was the last person she wanted to see right now: Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy stopped short in front of her, a look of absolute contempt etched across his face. But his eyes — there was something in his eyes that could only be described as worry.

"Granger?" he said, between gasps for breath, "What're you doing here?"

"Well, see Malfoy, we're in this place called Hogwarts, perhaps you've heard of it? Yeah, it's a school and I just happen to attend," Hermione said sarcastically.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and clutched the stitch in his side, "_Pardon_ _me_, Mudblood, but you're obviously mistaking me for someone who gives a damn. I meant, how is it possible that you're here _right_ _now_?"

"Well, my parents decided that they loved each other _very_ much—"

"Stop it now, before I lose my lunch, Mudblood. I don't need to know what Muggles do in their spare time."

"The exact same thing you do in _your_ spare time, Malfoy."

"Not that you would know what it's like, Granger."

"At least I haven't hooked up with the entire female population, unlike you."

"Hey, Mudblood, look at it my way: a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do."

"You know, Ferret, I'd like to see things from your point of view, but I can't seem to get my head that far up your ass."

"Bugger off, Granger."

"Oh, did I hit a nerve or are you just out of insults, Malfoy? I'm sure you could use the completely hackneyed 'Mudblood' one again."

Malfoy glance around nervously, "Granger, bugger off! _Please?_"

Hermione feigned disbelief, putting a hand over her heart, "Did I just hear you say 'please'? To a Mudblood? Malfoy, you're going soft."

Malfoy's pale cheeks turned pink, "Granger, shut it!"

"Or you'll what? Stutter at me?" Hermione retorted, hands on her hips.

More footsteps sounded at the end of the long corridor. Malfoy whirled around, eyes wide.

Turning quickly back to Hermione, he whispered, "Don't tell him I'm here."

Hermione looked at him oddly, "Tell—"

"Shh!"

Malfoy clapped a hand over her mouth, quieting her.

A door appeared to their right and Malfoy dragged her through it, his hand still preventing her for speaking.

He let go of her as soon as they entered the room.

Hermione turned on him immediately, "Malfoy…. Do you mind telling me _what the bloody hell that was all about?_

"Shh!"

Hermione's jaw dropped. _How dare he!_

"Can you at least tell me who we're hiding from?" She asked indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Malfoy sighed. "He's gone."

"For Merlin's sake, _who?_"

"Nott." Malfoy said simply, sliding down the wall so that he was sitting on the floor in a very un-Malfoy-like way.

Hermione raised an eyebrow elegantly. "Pardon?"

"Nott. Theodore Nott. He's been following me all year; special orders from the Dark Lord himself. Just my luck," he finished sulkily.

"Malfoy, why is it," Hermione said testily, "that every other year at Hogwarts you didn't seem to know how to shut up, but now when I need you to talk, you won't? A little more information, if you don't mind!"

Malfoy dismissed her command with a wave of his hand.

"That's not important now."

Hermione opened her mouth to deliver another retort, but Malfoy stopped her,

"Granger, let me say my piece. Zabini's in danger."

-----

**::laughs evilly:: Cliffie! **

**I know, I'm hurrying with the next chapter. **

**Anyway, did anyone catch the major hint I dropped about the Horcruxes? Props if you did. If you didn't, don't worry. You'll find out soon enough. **

**By the way: all of the book titles except "Horrible Transformations" are Rowling's. She made them up. Honestly! Go check the HP Lexicon!**


	6. Mairi

**Hey everyone! Normally, I'd say sorry for the wait, but this time it was well worth it. I'm actually pretty impressed with the length of this chapter… it's longer than my usual ones. Anyway, I thought of it as some sort of filler chapter, but Serian informed me that it was "absolutely amazing" and shouldn't be thought of as filler. So, I re-read it and I think I agree now… it's a bit long to be just filler. ;)**

**Anyhow, I don't own Blaise, Hermione, or the Interval (a **_**real**_** pub in London). I do, however, own Mairi, and I'm finding her rather amusing. Also, thanks to Serian for the awesome beta job… and yes, I **_**am**_** a strange person!**

**-----**

Mairi balanced a bag of groceries on her hip, a small silver key in one hand and a slight frown on her face. She tried once more to fit the key into the lock on the door, but every time she did it stuck.

Finally with an exasperated sigh, she thrust the bag of groceries at Blaise with a curt, "Hold these."

Both hands free at last, she inserted the key into the lock again, jiggling the doorknob.

The door finally open, she ushered Blaise into her apartment, telling him to put the bag on the kitchen counter.

"It's a bit messy, sorry," she said as they stood in the living room of the small apartment. "But, I suppose I'll give you the grand tour anyway."

Blaise nodded then grinned as Mairi struck up the pose of tour guide. Gesturing dramatically around her, she began.

"As you see here we have the sitting room, an ancient thing — constructed approximately five years ago."

Blaise took in the room around him; it consisted of a worn looking dark blue couch, a short coffee table (covered with piles of parchment) in front of it, an easy chair, and a silver floor lamp beside it. A bookshelf stood in one corner, packed with books on Auror-training, tricky looking potions, and advanced transfigurations. The walls were a spotless cream color, cleverly making the room appear bigger than it was.

Mairi led him into the kitchen.

"The kitchen. Source of sometimes-disastrous culinary experiments. That and drinks," she smiled wryly.

There was the bag of groceries, sitting on the dark wooden counter. Beside it was the icebox and on the other side, the gas stove. Along the opposite wall was a small oak table, a chair next to it.

Mairi strolled through a doorway that occupied the same wall as her table. Blaise followed her curiously down a narrow hallway. The corridor was bare, but for three pictures. The first, a photograph of a pretty brunette woman and a child, caught his eye. The child was looking adoringly up at the woman, who smiled lovingly down at the girl. The child's blonde hair shone brightly in the sunlight, loosely plaited into two pigtails. The little girl's face looked oddly familiar, but Blaise couldn't quite place it.

For some reason, he felt that he knew that face. The pointed chin, the high cheekbones, the strong nose, they were all known to him. The piercing green eyes, he knew those too.

Mairi joined him in front of the portrait, unconsciously biting her lower lip as she scanned the picture.

Blaise glanced at her, noticing how her face was now serious as she stood next to him. Looking back at the photograph on the wall, he suddenly knew why the face was recognizable. It was hers.

"She looks like you," he said softly. "She's got your face."

"Me and my mum." Mairi replied so quietly that he had to strain to hear her. "Me and Mum before…. Never mind."

"Oh."

Mairi brushed away an imaginary strand of hair before turning back around and gesturing at the three closed doors in the hallway.

"In order, the bathroom. Self-explanatory, at least I think so. My room's over there and here's your new room. Emily might come in and join you though. She's got this obsession with cuddling."

Blaise's eyebrows rose to phenomenal heights. Mairi's mouth twisted into a smirk.

"No need to be jumpy; this" — she bent swiftly, scooping up a grey kitten — "is Emily."

The animal was a very fluffy tabby, its tail and head covered with black stripes. Her eyes were huge in proportion to the rest of her tiny face, their pale yellow color standing out against her sleek ashy coat.

The kitten began to purr almost immediately, rubbing the top of her head against Mairi's forearm, begging to be stroked.

"You like cats?" Mairi asked, hardly waiting for Blaise's hesitant nod before depositing Emily into his arms.

Her arms now free, Mairi walked briskly back into the kitchen and began placing the groceries on their various shelves.

Blaise followed her, idly stroking Emily's soft fur.

Leaning his back against one of the counters, he asked in a would-be casual voice, "So… you wouldn't happen to have a copy of the _Prophet_ handy, would you?"

"I stopped getting that rag delivered months ago, it's all the same stuff 'somebody died yesterday.' Why do you want to read it anyway? Afraid you missed something important?" Mairi replied callously, not pausing to look up from the groceries.

"Oh, er, never mind then. It's just I haven't really seen the paper since I was at Hogwarts." Blaise bent down, placing Emily gently on the floor, where she instantly began to weave herself in and around his legs.

"You're still at Hogwarts? Merlin, was I wrong about you…. I thought you were one of those men that Mr. Shacklebolt's always got visiting him." Mairi paused, a tin of sardines in her hand. "So how old are you anyway?"

"Me? Oh, seventeen. I was halfway through my seventh year at Hogwarts before… I left." Blaise frowned and combed a hand through his curly dark brown hair.

"And why exactly did you leave?"

"Safety. It's better this way."

"You're a Slytherin, aren't you?" Mairi said, shaking her head. "Always thinking of yourself, saving your own skin, self-preservation indeed."

"I didn't leave for me!" Blaise said angrily. "I left so she wouldn't get hurt."

"She? Oh so this is a righteousness thing. You're set on proving that you're some sort of _noble_ person, always thinking of others before yourself. It's all about your image, isn't it, Zabini?"

"And I suppose _you're_ such a wonderful example of decency, aren't you? Well you don't know the whole story, so shut it." Blaise turned on his heel and stalked to his new room.

Mairi stood openmouthed in the kitchen. She wasn't at all used to being talked to like that. You had to give that Zabini kid some credit though: he had nerve.

It had been a _very_ long time since someone had talked to her like that. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she had rather missed it. As odd as it may seem, she had missed arguing. She had forgotten what it was like to partake in a spectacular row over something completely trivial. The ministry had taken that away from her; and now, a _boy_ comes traipsing into her office and somehow manages to give it back to her?

_Satan must be feeling particularly ecstatic today._

-----

Blaise leaned his back against the door of his bedroom.

Two weeks of hiding, traveling only by night, and he'd been able to think straight the entire time. He had known exactly what his purpose was, had worked the details out in his head. Now he was stuck with this… girl, who was so frustratingly stubborn, and his calculated logic was out the window. He needed someone rational, someone who could explain to him just what was going on.

He needed Hermione.

-----

An hour later, a soft knock sounded on Blaise's closed door. He stood up stiffly from his place on the floor, rubbing his sore back. Opening the door, he found Mairi standing, somewhat impatiently, in front of him.

His jaw set stubbornly as soon as he laid eyes on her. She raised her eyebrow. Drawing herself up to her full height, she crossed her arms over her chest, now eye-level with him.

They stood like that for a few moments, just staring at each other. Finally Mairi sighed impatiently and said,

"Look, Zabini… I'm sorry, ok? I guess I'm just not used to people being around."

Blaise hesitated a moment, then nodded. He would forgive her, but Merlin be damned if she thought he would forget about her insults.

"Right." Mairi said briskly. "Well… are you hungry? We could go out for fish and chips…."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Blaise said testily. "In case you don't remember, I have Death Eaters on the lookout for me; I can't exactly go parading around London just because you feel the need for fish and chips."

Mairi smirked. "I happen to be very gifted when it comes to glamour charms, thank you very much. Now go take a quick shower, you smell awful."

"Why thank you," Blaise replied sarcastically. Grabbing a towel, he crossed the hall to the bathroom. As he closed the door he heard Mairi's voice behind him.

"I'm going to try and find you some different clothes."

-----

If anyone had been looking through the windows of the small pub on the corner of Irving Street (The Interval) between the hours of eight o'clock and nine o'clock that night, they would've seen two young people, laughing and talking.

The first was a young woman, her brunette hair pulled up into a loose ponytail. Her green eyes dancing, she was laughing at something the young man across from her had said. The light from the lamp hanging above the table shone down on her fair skin, giving it a slightly yellow glow. She raised a mug of beer to her lips, still grinning broadly.

The second, the young man, was running his hand through his shaggy light brown hair. Every so often, he would glance nervously out the window and gaze for a moment at the dark street.

From inside The Interval, it was much the same picture. The two sat across from each other in a booth in the corner of the pub. From the inside of the tavern though, one could hear more of the two's conversation.

The young people sitting in the booth seemed relaxed; they made no effort to keep their voice lowered. The only other occupants were three men at the bar; one quite obviously drunk beyond measure; another sipping casually from a mug of dark ale; the third, folding and unfolding a worn piece of parchment, his drink sitting forgotten on the counter in front of him. Flicking the parchment open again, he read the two words scrawled onto it: _He's here._ He read it over and over, even though he a long since committed it to memory.

Over at the booth, the boy raked his fingers through his hair once more.

"Merlin, this is weird! I don't look anything like myself."

though I think that's mostly because you're so amusing when something atypical happens," the girl teased him lightly, a smile still played on her lips.

The man at the bar glanced up at the duo interestedly. His fingers worked the parchment faster, rubbing the dog-eared corner between his thumb and forefinger.

The two stayed a while longer, drinking, talking, occasionally laughing, although most of it was done on the girl's part. After one last mug of beer, the pair got up. Pulling their coats on, they walked casually toward the door. The bartender shouted a farewell to them; the girl turned around and called for one last round for everyone, on her of course.

But the boy grabbed hold of her hand and fairly dragged her out the door, saying, "Come on, love. It's high time for us to be leaving."

The man at the bar got up quickly, tightening his trench coat's belt around his thin waist. He slapped some coins onto the bar and followed the young couple onto the street.

-----

Mairi and Blaise walked slowly down the quiet street, the chill air stinging their cheeks.

Blaise turned his head slightly, glancing along the street behind them, his wary nature getting the best of him. In a moment he was glad he had.

"There's someone following us. Stay qui—"

"Are you sure?" Mairi interrupted him. She snuck a look behind them as well, eyes widening ever so slightly as she saw the hooded figure down the street.

"No, I'm not. But I am cautious. Now, do exactly as I say; keep a good hold on my hand, we're going to find out if he _is_ following us."

"What if anything happens?" Mairi asked, always one to know the options.

"Run," He replied grimly. "I don't like the looks of this man."

She nodded once and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Blaise smiled bemusedly at her. He didn't understand her at all. One minute she was professional and stiffly polite, the next she was giving him mock tours of her house. Then she was accusing him of acting too Slytherin, and an hour later, she wanted to know if he'd come to dinner with her! This was definitely one of the most confusing birds he'd ever met.

They rounded the corner to the silent avenue upon which Mairi's apartment was located. As expected, the man behind them turned the same corner a minute later. Blaise gasped suddenly as Mairi's grip on his hand tightened dramatically.

"What the hell was that for?" he snapped.

She ignored his words, her face was pale and her eyes were wide.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" he tried again.

"Look…"

Blaise followed Mairi's gaze and knew immediately what had made her go pale. There above Mairi's apartment building, glittering emerald against the black sky was the Dark Mark.

They froze, afraid to move, but afraid to stay where they were. Finally, they moved cautiously toward the building, up the steps, and onto the front landing.

Blaise heard Mairi muttering curses – intermingled with the occasional furtive prayer – fluently. She squeezed her eyes shut as they came to her flat.

Blaise stopped in front of the door and grimaced as he saw the damage: the apartment door was hanging by only the bottom hinge; the small sitting room had been ransacked, the easy chair had been upended, tables roughly overturned, and books tossed about the room.

"Oh Merlin," Mairi groaned from beside him.

The rest of the apartment wasn't much better. The entire place was in a state of disarray so great that Blaise and Mairi could only observe it in shock.

Mairi sank onto the floor, head in her hands. Emily crawled out from under the couch, relatively unharmed. She rubbed uneasily against Mairi's back, eyes alert for any sign of an enemy.

"I've done nothing," Mairi said softly, still wide-eyed in shock.

"And yet, you are both in grave danger," a solemn voice came from behind them, startling them.

Blaise spun on his heel, whipping out his wand.

"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously, wand pointed at the intruder's chest.

"Don't you know me, Mr. Zabini?" — Blaise and Mairi stiffened, this stranger could see past the glamour charm? — "Yes, I know who you are. Though I must say, that is a very well done glamour charm, Miss Edwards."

"Tell me who you are," Blaise said tersely, wand still raised. He had no tolerance for people who did not (or would not) answer his questions.

The Man smiled wryly at him. He brushed his gray-brown hair out of his eyes and said simply, "I was at Hogwarts while you were in school."

The mysterious visitor crossed the room quickly, saying, "We'd best be going, there's no saying if the Death Eaters will come back or not. Grab hold of my arm, you two, and I'll Apparate."

"But how are we to know if we can trust you?" Blaise asked apprehensively.

Giving him a significant look, the Man said, "Kingsley Shacklebolt sent me."

Blaise nodded once in understanding before going to Mairi (who had already scooped up Emily) and helping her to her feet. They joined the Man in the middle of the sitting room. Blaise put his hand on the caller's shoulder while Mairi grabbed his own hand.

The familiar sense of being pulled through a narrow tube claimed them and soon they were standing on a quiet, dimly lit street. They followed the man to the middle of the street, a rickety old house in front of them.

Mairi shuddered beside him as he went after the Man. Blaise squeezed her hand reassuringly although he himself was unsure of where they were going and what to expect.

The door to the house swung open, greeting the three guests with a gust of very welcome warm air.

A few people called out friendly 'hello's as they stepped into the dwelling. A very familiar voice called out from the hall, "Remus! Good to see you got my note."

-----

**Feel the call of the little white review button….**


	7. Portrait

**A/N: a huge thanks to Serian for the beta work! I think this just might be the best chapter I've written… for one thing I had a great time writing it and besides that Serian couldn't find anything wrong with it! Wow!**

**Disclaimer: as always, it's JKR's. I made up the book titles though.**

Hermione traced the outline of the tapestry in front of her. She ran her fingers over the fading strands of woven cloth, contemplating the entrance to the room it marked.

Hoping that this time she would not be disturbed, she began to pace in front of the tapestry, thinking quite hard about Horcruxes. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated harder as she felt her doubts resurfacing in the front of her mind, her hands balled up into fists.

A wooden door with a golden handle appeared on the wall next to her. Hermione sighed in relief; her plan had worked thus far.

Gripping the handle tightly, she turned it and pushed the door open. Her eyes widened as she took in the huge room she had entered.

Rows upon rows of bookshelves spread out in front of her, a large dark wood table and chair (complete with a reading lamp), an ornately decorated mirror, and a huge portrait (whose inhabitant was currently snoozing with his head resting against the frame), so tall that it was mounted only half a meter above the floor.

The man in the painting snored quietly, his tasseled hat bobbed on his head, as Hermione tiptoed over to examine his portrait. His emerald robes billowed out around him, enveloping him in a cascading sea of green. The matching green hat was topped by a hanging golden tassel, pushed jauntily to the side.

Cocking her head to one side, Hermione stood in front of the picture, wondering how this man could ever relate to what she was searching for.

She had just shaken her head in defeat and turned away to examine the bookcases when a sleepy voice called out to her,

"So… you're the one they've chosen, are you?"

Hermione slowly turned back around.

"Excuse me?"

"Ah, so they've followed tradition and not told you! Splendid," the man in the painting said, yawning suddenly.

"I'm sorry… I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione replied confusedly, brushing a stray curl away from her eyes and tucking it safely behind her ear.

The painted man continued as though he hadn't heard her.

"Though I suppose that's what one should expect from the Elders… they always were sticklers for tradition. But to have chosen a _girl_? And one so young too…. The world must be in grave danger for them to choose a young one."

"Yes, we are in danger!" Hermione said hurriedly, finally recapturing the painting's attention. "Please, do you know anything at all about horcruxes?"

"Know anything? My dear girl, I wouldn't be in here if I didn't! Use the brain Merlin gave you! I know you've got to have one, you found your way in, didn't you?" he replied in a rather obvious tone. He began speaking quietly to himself again, "The standards must have gone quite lax. What did I always tell them about choosing Hufflepuffs? Silly young chits, never using their heads. Prefer to think with their hands and hearts, they do."

"I am not a Hufflepuff!" Hermione said indignantly. "I'm a Gryffindor, _sir_."

"Really! Had me fooled," he then began muttering to himself once more (a bad habit, Hermione thought). "Well… at least I know hell hasn't broken loose _yet_. But really, what _are_ the Elders thinking… choosing a _Gryffindor_?"

"What's so bad about choosing a Gryffindor?" Hermione asked, breaking the painted man out of his reverie.

"Hm? Oh, it's nothing as bad as choosing a Hufflepuff, I can assure you. It's just they've chosen a Gryffindor to do a Slytherin's job. If I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times, there are certain things that simply must stay within a certain House! After all, you didn't see them sending that Riddle boy to find Godric's sword. It's like ordering Rowena to send one of her own to—"

"Riddle?" Hermione cut him off rather eagerly.

"Yes… do you know the boy? Charming young man, if I do say so myself…."

"It's on account of Riddle that I'm here, sir. Please, I have a few questions concerning the h—"

"The horcruxes… of course you do! You wouldn't be here otherwise, would you?" he interrupted impatiently.

"No… I suppose not," Hermione conceded.

"Exactly. So, what's the boy done now?" he sighed heavily. "Tom always was getting into trouble, even if no one knew it at the time…."

A reminiscing look passed across his face; he nodded slightly, a far-away look in his eyes, causing the tassel on his hat to start swinging again.

"Well, you see, sir. He doesn't exactly go by the name of 'Tom' anymore…. He prefers… Lord V-voldemort. He's the reason I'm here though, like I said. Correct me if I'm wrong, but he came to see you, years and years ago? To learn about horcruxes?" At a nod from the strange man, she continued. "Well, he sort of… misused… the knowledge that you gave him."

The man in the painting raised his eyebrow delicately, "Do continue, dear girl."

"He's become a Dark Lord of sorts—"

"'Of sorts'? So he's only partly a Dark Lord?"

Hermione shook her head and crossed her arms across her chest, "No, he's definitely a real Dark Lord…. The problem is, he used what you taught him about horcruxes to make his own. Seven of them."

The man paled visibly.

"Made his own? He wantonly murdered? Tom Riddle? The boy wouldn't hurt a Niffler!"

Hermione rubbed the back of her neck tiredly, "yes, well, Tom Riddle's changed a bit since you last saw him."

The painted man pinched the bridge of his nose and looked unhappily at her.

"So let me get this straight… the Elders send me Tom Riddle, I willingly teach him all I know, and he goes off and becomes the next Dark Lord? How's that for a fine 'thank you kindly'?"

Hermione nodded in sad affirmation.

"And beyond that," the man continued, " they've sent you to me so that you can stop Riddle?"

"I'm not sure exactly, sir," Hermione replied. "But _will_ you teach me?"

"My dear, I may not _want_ to teach a Gryffindor, but the Elders sent you and so I _must_. I simply have no choice in the matter," the man said, looking down his nose at Hermione.

"But, sir, no one sent me. I came here myself," she explained, tucking another chestnut curl behind her ear.

"Yes, that's what they all say… but never fear: you were sent, even if you don't know it. The Elders always send someone. Whether they choose to let you know about it or not is an entirely different matter," he said solemnly. "You see, my dear, the Elders have a purpose in mind for everyone. Now, people like that Riddle boy can make changes to their purpose. Why? Because even though we all have a path laid before us, we have the _potential_ to take another road. That is, apparently, what Tom Riddle did. You, on the other hand… you are a completely different matter…."

Hermione sat down on the floor in front of the painting, intent on learning all she could from this strange man. She gazed up at the canvas attentively, "Why am I a different matter?"

The man shifted in his frame, so that he was now leaning against the border.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry, but I really shouldn't tell you until I've taught you about the horcruxes. We shall talk about these things in order of importance, and our first order of business, must be the horcruxes."

Hermione nodded eagerly; finally, here was something useful for Harry!

The man quickly instructed her to conjure a table and chair, bring over a few books (whose titles he told her), and take out her ink, quill, and parchment.

"Now, what do you know horcruxes?" he asked, once the supplies had been gathered and Hermione sat, waiting, at the table.

"Nothing much more than a name, I'm afraid, sir."

"That won't do at all…. Take out _Dark Magic of the Thirteenth Century_ and turn to page 573. That section should do quite nicely as a beginning explanation."

Hermione opened the huge tome, found the desired page, and began to read.

_Horcruxes, or __parti di anima in the original Italian, were first made as a precaution against the ending of a family line. Pureblood wizards would separate the soul of a newborn, immobilizing the second part as a reserve should the child happen to die. _

_Towards the end of the 1200s, dark witches and wizards began to experiment with the use of horcruxes as a means of achieving immortality. Using the spell "segreto a vita eterna," the participant could capture a part of his very soul and imprison it in a host, usually some form of common material. _

_In an age of dark magic it is understandable that to gain immortality, a life must be ended. For the spell to retain its full potency the applicant must either commit an act of murder or a life must willingly be given to him._

Hermione looked up at the portrait, a pensive look on her face.

"So, the horcruxes started out as a… _good_ thing?"

"My dear, there are fine lines between good and evil. Half the time, no one really knows what _should_ be considered good or evil. Think of Tom Riddle. Does he consider himself evil?" – Hermione shook her head at this— " And, in his position, would _you _consider yourself evil?"

"No… I suppose I wouldn't…."

"See?" He continued more gently, "The world will always be filled by good and evil. Our difficulty lies in that we are nearsighted enough to consider our way of thinking the _only_ way of thinking, and so the only _right _way. It's a part of our human nature to never consider ourselves evil."

The painted man sighed in melancholy, before a thick silence settled on the Room of Requirement.

Hermione broke the silence by saying, "But how do you know what really _is_ good or evil?"

The man's eyes widened in disbelief, "Dear girl, weren't you listening to anything I just said? We _can't_ determine what is truly good or evil! 'Good' and 'evil' are relative terms!"

"Oh. Right," she replied lamely. She rubbed her temples, lost in her own thoughts, before saying, "Well, sir, do you know anyway to _reveal_ someone's horcrux? Or horcruxes?"

"Why do you want to know?" the man said shrewdly, looking at her through narrowed eyes.

Hermione opened and shut her mouth a few times, bit her lower lip awkwardly, and finally said, "It's complicated."

"Ah. I see," he said quietly. "Well, I suppose I should have just trusted you, seeing as you're the one They sent…. Let's see… how to reveal a horcrux…. Hmm, that's a tricky one." He tapped the tips of his long fingers together. "Try looking in _The Sorcerer's Guide to The Medieval Dark Arts_… about page 306. Oh did Cornelius Agrippa know what he was talking about. There's a reason half of his books were banned from wizarding libraries, you know."

Hermione ignored him as she skimmed over the page. She frowned slightly; there was nothing in here about a revealer charm. She turned the page; nothing on this one either. The next three pages proved just as unhelpful. She finally gave up while searching page 319.

Slamming the book shut, she gave a cry of frustration. "There's nothing in here!" —she rounded on the painting— "You said there would be!"

"Patience, my dear, if you'll recall I said to 'try' looking at page 306. I made no promises. But I do have one more spot for you to look. It's still in _The Sorcerer's Guide to The Medieval Dark Arts_; this time I want you to look at page 135. That should prove a bit more enlightening."

Gritting her teeth, Hermione found the chosen page and began to scan it.

After a minute or two, she gave a small squeal of triumph.

"I've found it! _R__iveli i vostri segreti_… is that Italian? I thought all spells were in Latin."

"Most of them are… but during the Medieval ages, dark spells were typically in Italian; it reduced the likelihood of people knowing of them," the man explained casually, scratching a spot on his chin.

"Well that makes sense," Hermione said absently, as she copied down the spell onto her parchment.

Gathering her supplies, she stuffed them haphazardly back in her bag.

"Thanks very much, Mr.—" she stopped, realizing that she had never properly introduced herself to the painting, as silly as it sounded.

"Professor," he corrected. "Professor Slytherin."

Her jaw dropped.

He smiled serenely, obviously enjoying her shock.

"Sorry… erm, I'm Hermione Granger," she said, recovering with a shake of her head.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said smoothly. "Now go save the world or whatever you plan to do."

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Hermione nodded briefly in thanks, then rushed out the door and ran back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

She gasped the password at the Fat Lady, who raised a disapproving eyebrow at the sight of a young lady looking so completely disheveled.

"Harry!" She said excitedly, seeing him and Ron sitting off by themselves in a corner. "I've got it! A way to find the horcruxes!"

_**parti di anima, pieces of a soul, Italian**_

_**R**__**iveli i vostri segreti, reveal your secrets, Italian**_

Segreto a vita eterna, the secret to eternal life, Italian 

**Reviews appreciated!**


	8. Holiday

**A/N: NOW it's been beta-ed. Happy reading.**

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Things did not go as Hermione had planned.

She had envisioned Harry's reception of her good news as going much differently then it did.

She had imagined that Harry would jump up from his chair immediately, embrace her tightly while thanking her for her extraordinary efforts thus far, and then spin her around in a circle as he was apt to do when excited. He would, of course, be grinning widely and his green eyes would be aglow with the half-crazed gleam that was present whenever good tidings of the War were delivered.

But she was sadly disappointed.

"Harry! I've got it! A way to find the horcruxes!"

"Not now, Hermione," Harry waved her away distractedly. He and Ron were bent over a parchment note, reading it intently.

She pursed her lips, not at all pleased to be brushed away, but sat down quietly across from them nonetheless.

"What's it say?" she asked worriedly once the bys looked up, grim looks on their faces.

Ron handed the note to her as Harry sat back in his chair and took off his glasses, nibbling thoughtfully at the end of one earpiece.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she read the words scribbled on the parchment.

"We need to get to the house. Now."

The two boys nodded – Harry had set his mouth in a thin line, while Ron's freckles seemed suddenly more prominent against his pale cheeks.

Harry glanced around the Common Room suddenly.

"What about the other students? They need to get to safety too."

Silence descended on the trio as they pondered what to do with their classmates.

"The holidays," Ron said quietly. "McGonagall will know about this already, right? She can fix it so that everyone has to go home, can't she?" – Harry and Hermione nodded slowly – "Well then we can get everyone home by Tuesday."

"It's settled then," Harry said firmly. "I'll go and tell McGonagall."

He got up quietly, taking care to not attract attention to himself as he exited the Portrait Hole.

Ron and Hermione exchanged dour looks as they saw their friend off. Then they went to their separate dormitories to pack for their holiday journey.

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A trembling Wormtail knelt before the Dark Lord.

"What is it _now_, Worm?" The Heir of Slytherin said coldly.

"More news, my Lord. Favorable news, Lord."

"I should hope it is, for your sake, Worm. I trust you remember my oath from the last time you brought me an ill report?"

"Yes, Lord," the balding man cowered at his Master's feet.

"And would you be so kind as to repeat that oath so that the others could hear it?" The Dark Lord looked pointedly at the Death Eaters ringing the edge of the room.

Wormtail nodded shakily. "That should I bring you ill news again, you would not hesitate to Avada me and anyone else in the room."

"Exactly," his Lord replied stonily. "Remember that – all of you."

His red eyes swept over the attending Death Eaters before settling on Wormtail once more. "Your news, Worm."

"My Lord, Hogwarts is ready to fall."

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_Slam!_

Blaise's fist connected with the thin wall of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place, making it shake violently. His palm still on the wall, he rested his forehead against it, the cool feel of the partition calming his temper slightly.

He was sick of being cooped up in this dingy little house, unable to do anything about the present situation, unable to leave the damned house. He wasn't even allowed into the blasted meetings _they_ kept having.

He knew he was little better than a prisoner, but at least this Order Kingsley and Lupin kept talking about allowed him to be left to his own devices – as long as he stayed in the house and had sworn that he wouldn't do anything concerning the War.

But there were only so many Quidditch games playing on the radio, and the library had a finite number of books on its shelves.

So by the ninth day of his stay at Grimmauld Place, Blaise was bored to tears.

He flipped over so that his back was against the wall. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his thick hair.

Mairi, it seemed, wasn't doing much better. But at least _she_ was being included in some of the meetings (he had been told it was because she was of age).

"Are you done trying to break down the wall?"

Blaise started and subsequently slipped as he tried to stand up. He looked up from his new position on the floor. Mairi, her hand still on the doorknob, stood gazing amusedly down at him lying prone on the ground.

"You always this coordinated?" She asked, barely managing to suppress a grin.

"Shut up," he muttered, standing up and rubbing the elbow he had just bruised on the wooden edge of his bed.

"Whatever," Mairi turned to leave, pulling the door half closed behind her. She hesitated and then said over her shoulder, "Lupin and Mr. Shacklebolt told me to come and bring you down to the meeting."

Blaise's eyes widened, "Seriously?"

Mairi raised an eyebrow, "Zabini, you've never sounded more like an immature school child."

Blaise nodded a sarcastic thank-you.

------

In the makeshift meeting room (which was the damp and molded dining room), Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were having an argument.

"Are you quite sure he's to be trusted, Kingsley? You of all people should know the power of temptation."

"Remus, once again, I assure you that the boy will be able to perform above and beyond your expectations—"

"It's not a matter of ability to perform. I am quite aware of his abilities, having taught him for a year. It's a question of loyalty— how do we know that he's _not_ going to go and betray us? All his life he's been surrounded by people who have been drilling ideas of blood-right into his head. How do _you_ know that he won't suddenly decide that the Dark Lord is in the right?" Remus said fiercely. He walked over to the fireplace at one end of the room and rested his hand on the mantle.

"You're forgetting, Remus," Kingsley said calmly, coming over to join him, "He's been around more than Death Eaters. Do you remember his mother? He found her, dead, on the floor of her bedroom. She tried to instill in him that Purebloods could not survive without Halfbloods and Muggleborns, and that the classes were therefore _equal_. Just bear in mind, Remus, that just because the boy's a Slytherin it doesn't mean that he's the same as the Malfoy boy. What's more, he doesn't even _like_ the Malfoys; says they make him uncomfortable— but that's besides the point."

"Yes, I know he's not the Malfoy boy but—"

"And furthermore," Kingsley held up a hand, effectively stopping Remus from continuing. "The boy is _very_ capable of holding a grudge. You see, he blames himself for his mother's death— he believes that he could have prevented it somehow. But since he couldn't, he won't rest easy until those responsible for her death are punished in a way he deems acceptable as a payment for his loss. You'll find Blaise can be quite – ah – vindictive at times."

A knock sounded, making both men start.

Remus crossed the room quickly and opened the door, ushering the waiting party in.

"Ah, Blaise! Good of you to join us," Kingsley said, meeting the boy and shaking the young man's hand in greeting. Motioning for both Blaise and Mairi to sit down, he began. "Blaise, how would you feel about going back to Hogwarts and working as a spy of sorts?"

Blaise blinked a few times in surprise. "Well, fine I suppose… but it's the Christmas holidays right now, there'd be no one there."

Lupin moved from his place behind the chairs and began to pace slowly. "Usually you would be right, Mr. Zabini. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord has chosen this as the time to make his move and—"

"What does that have to do with Hogwarts?" Blaise interrupted, a frown gracing his face.

Kingsley motioned to Remus that he would answer this particular question.

"You see, Blaise, we've received intelligence that Voldemort is planning to attack Hogwarts. No one knows exactly _why_, but my guess is that he wants to give us some sort of psychological scare by occupying the one place that we have called 'safe' for so many years."

Blaise nodded grimly. "And what exactly do you want me to do?"

"We need you to go and _be_ a Death Eater. Temporarily, of course. Essentially just get in there and tell us what's going on."

Nodding slightly, Blaise stood up from his chair and turned around, ready to leave the room. He paused and faced Kingsley once more, an ironic sort of smile playing on his lips.

"This means I'll have to see the Malfoys again…."

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The Dark Lord sat in what had been Dumbledore's seat at the Head Table. The ornate wood chair was now recognizable only because of the height of its back. The Death Eaters had disfigured it, hacking its carved feet with their knives, blasting sizeable chunks out of its heavy base with their wands.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was dark, the very clouds hanging low and looking ominously black. The candles had been extinguished; the Hall was lit by two lone tapers that sat at the Dark Lord's right and left hands.

But even for the poor lighting, one could see the damage that the Death Eaters and their Master had inflicted upon the once awesome Hall. Tables and benches had been overturned or thrown roughly aside; the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw banners had been torn down and ripped to shreds. The Slytherin standard had been moved to the front of the Hall and been hung above the Dark Lord's throne, the huge snake glaring threateningly down at whomever dared to come before the Heir of Slytherin.

Two dark forms stood in the entrance hall of the ruined castle. The smaller clung desperately to her companion as if he was a lifeline.

A harsh-looking man appeared in front of them suddenly, causing the woman to cry out. He clapped a hand on her shoulder and tore her roughly from the boy. She began to sob pitifully, calling out the boy's name.

"Draco! Don't let him take me! Do something, Draco; I beg of you! They'll kill me!"

Draco's eyes widened in terror as he watched the man slap her— but he knew better than to cry out: he still had the long scar down his right shoulder as proof that the Death Eaters would not tolerate (or hesitate to punish) whatever they saw as weakness.

The Death Eater silenced the woman with a wave of his wand. Draco could see her still, silently screaming for him to save her.

A long hood was shoved savagely over her head. Her hands were bound tightly with a length of strong rope.

Her handler turned to Draco and sneered at him, showing a few blackened teeth. "I'll be back for you in a moment, Boy. Best not run away— the Master wouldn't like that very much, now would he?"

Draco shook his head vigorously, knowing that hearty agreement could be his only chance of surviving.

As soon as the Death Eater closed the doors to the Great Hall behind him, Draco let out groan of frustration. What could he possibly do know? There was no way to saving his mother since, in a moment, he would be joining her before the Dark Lord.

He went cautiously over to the double doors of the castle and checked to see if they were unlocked.

"Damn," he muttered; they were still locked.

He fingered his wand in the pocket of his robe. At least they hadn't taken _that_ from him.

Now to think of a way that he could escape and then contact Blaise. Zabini was possibly his only friend (or even acquaintance) who was not going through the preparation necessary to receive the Dark Mark.

Zabini could get him to freedom. More importantly, Zabini could get him to the Order.

------

The Dark Lord seemed to skim across the ground — fly, almost— as he crossed the Great Hall. His robe billowed out behind him, giving him an otherworldly sense. He toyed with his wand, running one long finger up and down the bone handle.

Lucius Malfoy stood stock still as his Master approached him.

"I've brought a guest to see you, Lucius," the Dark Lord said, cool mirth evident in his voice. He waved his hand and a man stepped forward, holding a struggling woman by the shoulders. At a sign he threw her down on the ground at their feet.

The Dark Lord stooped and helped her up in a way that would have seemed gentle had it not been for the look on his face. With a wave of his hand the hood on his captive's head disappeared, revealing a woman shaking with terror.

"Such a lovely wife you have, Lucius. I don't believe I've been properly introduced?"

A cruel smile formed on the Dark Lord's thin lips.

Lucius bowed and complied immediately.

"My Lord, my wife… Narcissa."

"My compliments, Lucius, she is beautiful. Though it's a shame she'll have to die for your mistakes. You see, Lucius, I am willing to… _overlook_, shall we say, _one_ error. But when these little slip-ups of yours become a _habit_, I'm afraid I must take action."

"My Lord, I didn't mean to—"

"Tell me, Lucius, what exactly was going on when six _teenagers_ withstood — my memory fails me — _how many Death Eaters_? Do explain what happened last year when you failed to obtain vital supplies for me? And what exactly are you teaching Draco? I find I'm most curious about this last one… seeing as he was incapable of killing a doddering old man whom he professed to hate with a passion."

Lucius remained silent.

"I thought so. I will decide what to do with you in a moment. I have a little _job_ for you first— one that I hope you will be able to complete. Take out your wand, Lucius. Good. Now, I'm going to watch you kill your wife," he said callously. "Since, I'm in a generous mood, I'll give you a moment to say your good-byes. Shall I have your son sent in?"

The boy was ushered in, but a broad-shouldered Death Eater pinned Draco against his chest so that he could not go to his parents in the center of the Hall.

Lucius spoke quietly into Narcissa's ear, causing her to start crying. The silencing charm was still on her, stopping her from crying out.

The Lucius stepped back, raised his wand, aimed it carefully at Narcissa's heart and whispered, "_Avada Kedavra_."

"No!" Draco shouted— but too late, Narcissa's limp body crumpled to the ground.

At that moment, Draco finally grasped the gravity of the situation that was the War. Being a Death Eater was not about bullying little Mudblood first years— there was killing and death and murder involved. _Dumbledore was right_, he thought with a pang, _I'm not cut out for this._

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**There you have it. My last update before **_**Deathly Hallows**_**. At some point when I had just started writing I thought 'wouldn't it be cool if I could finish this before the last book comes out?' And I remembered that today as I wrote the last 7 pages of this and then thought 'there's no freaking way.' **

**Anyway, I think it's a miracle that I've updated in less than month. But I won't get a chance to work on anything for a week or two as I'm leaving for Minnesota on Tuesday and then almost immediately after I get back, I have an opera performance. (Wish me luck!)**

**So, not my best chapter, but still. The end was a little crazy, I'm afraid it sounds rushed. Give me you thoughts on it, please?**


	9. Floo Powder

**Here's the next chapter! Oh, and there's a rather important note at the bottom. Cheers.**

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"_And what exactly do you want me to do?"_

"_We need you to go and _be_ a Death Eater. Temporarily, of course. Essentially just get in there and tell us what's going on."_

_Nodding slightly, Blaise stood up from his chair and turned around, ready to leave the room. He paused and faced Kingsley once more, an ironic sort of smile playing on his lips._

"_This means I'll have to see the Malfoys again…."_

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"You realize what this means, don't you?" Mairi said, sitting cross-legged on Blaise's bed in Grimmauld Place.

Blaise looked up from packing his trunk. "I've been thinking a lot about everything that _this_ means."

Mairi grabbed her ankles to steady herself as she leaned backwards slightly.

"They've basically _begged_ you to join the Order. All that time where they wouldn't let you even sit in on the meetings and they're just _allowing_ you to join suddenly. You're not even of age yet!"

"And why d'you have problem with that? You've been in those meetings, you got to hear about all the plans, got to see what was actually going on— I've no idea why your sore about this," he said, closing his trunk and sitting on it.

"Do you really think they trust me that much?"

Blaise looked momentarily confused. "Yeah… I mean, why shouldn't they? And they've let you in the meetings, that's got to count for something."

"I wish."

"But _you're_ in the Order… right?"

There was no answer.

"Aren't you, Mairi?"

She was suddenly examining her fingernails very carefully.

"Mairi?"

"Alright. Fine. I'm not _in_ the Order, ok? They didn't let me into _all _the meetings… they wouldn't let me stay in most of them."

"What? Why not?" Blaise said, stunned by this piece of news.

"You obviously have more faith in me than they do," she replied sardonically, looking up again. "No, apparently I haven't done anything important enough to prove myself worthy of the mighty and powerful Order of the Phoenix."

"It's not about being _worthy_—"

"Really, Zabini? Then why aren't I in the Order?"

He had no answer to _that_ question. Blaise pursed his lips, got up and began throwing clothes (rather roughly) into his trunk once more.

A knowing smirk crossed Mairi's face. "Exactly, Zabini."

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"Come _on_, Zabini…."

No response.

"Get down here and talk to me, Blaise."

Still no response.

"Damn it, Zabini, answer me!"

Draco Malfoy's head was hovering just about the ashes in the Zabini's fireplace.

He waited a few more seconds—no reply.

He swore again and pulled his head from the fireplace in Dumbledore's office, the one place that the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had been unable to penetrate.

Dusting himself off, he glowered darkly at the hearth. Where on earth was Blaise?

He had checked all of the usual places: the Zabini Manor, their summer home in Florence, and Blaise's stepfather's mansion in Paris. After that, he had visited Blaise's Aunt's home in London (she hadn't heard from the family in ages), his cousin's place in Brussels, his grandparents' apartment in Leeds, and then the Manor again.

Blaise was nowhere to be found.

And that was just the beginning of his bad luck. If Blaise was gone, that meant that his own future was as good as gone too.

Draco stood up and began pacing the length of Dumbledore's office again. There had to be something he hadn't tried yet… some way to get a hold of Zabini.

_Wait_. Maybe there was a way.

He crossed the room in three large strides, grabbed a handful of floo powder, threw it into the ashes and shouted, "Zabini! I want a word!"

He stood, waiting anxiously, in front of the fire. He watched it carefully until the green flames flickered and finally died.

Sighing heavily, he made his way over to the window of the empty office. He gazed out of it. The sunset, with its blood red and golden hues, would seem so much more _real_ if he were a free man.

-

-

-

Blaise wrapped his cloak tightly around his body, protecting himself from the chill wind that was nipping at him. He stood in front of the gates of Hogwarts, surveying the destruction of the Dark Lord and his followers. The gates hung by a hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, creaking eerily whenever they moved.

Kingsley had said that he would have no need to announce himself; the Death Eaters had set up ward upon ward to alert them if anyone came near the castle.

And so Blaise stepped carefully over the rubble around the gates and then treaded his way up to the castle.

-

-

-

"Master?"

"_What_?" The Dark Lord growled from his throne.

The messenger shook in terror.

"Rowle, I suggest that you deliver whatever news you have _soon_, or you may meet the same fate as our _dear_ friend Mr. Ollivander."

Some of the Death Eaters ringing the room sniggered, but were silenced by a murderous look from their Master.

Rowle nodded, still shaking, "M-my lord, the wards at the gate went off—"

"And have you collected our visitor?"

"Not yet, my lord."

"Then I advise you to get someone out there _immediately_. Bring me the boy and do it quickly."

"The _boy_, lord?"

The Dark Lord nodded curtly. "_Now_."

Rowle left the Great Hall as fast as his legs could carry him. Once he was out in the Entrance Hall, he shoved a few of the younger Death Eaters out the doors to brave the chill wind and retrieve the boy.

-

-

-

Draco walked slowly down the staircase; he hadn't been able to get in touch with anyone who could be of _any_ assistance to him. Blaise was nowhere to be found and the only person who might know (Granger) had disappeared as well.

He ducked under a tapestry, opting to take one of the castle's secret passages instead of the longer, open routes. Turning around, he covered the entrance of the passage carefully.

"Must get away…" He muttered to himself, smoothing the heavy cloth with his hand.

"Not thinking of _leaving_ us, are you, Malfoy?"

Draco whirled around.

"Nott."

"Correct as usual, Draco," Nott drawled, twirling his wand between h is fingers. "Now… care to explain why you would _ever_ think of deserting the Dark Lord?"

Draco was silent.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with your dear old Mum getting killed, now would it?" Nott pressed, his voice taking on a goading edge.

Draco clenched his jaw. One more taunt and Nott might find himself… incapacitated.

Nott stepped closer to Draco.

"I've been following you around for two years. Two _years_. I've had to let you put on the tough son of the most powerful Death Eater act for two years. I've finally got my chance now, Malfoy… I could kill you now, if I wanted to. The Dark Lord wouldn't mind." — Draco involuntarily took a step back — "Oho, not so tough now that Daddy's out of favor, are you?"

"My father made mistakes, we've all paid for them. I don't need any of your so-called punishments, Nott. They're unnecessary, I'm sure even the Dark Lord would agree."

Nott raised his wand to Draco's throat and snarled, "Don't you _dare_ tell me what's unnecessary!"

Draco swatted the other Slytherin's wand away, "Don't you have something better to do than make empty threats? Why don't you go ask your Dark Lord if you can polish his shoes or press his robes or—"

"Shut up! You have no idea what you're getting yourself in—"

"Not interested," Draco interrupted him.

With that, he pushed Nott roughly aside and continued through the narrow passageway.

-

-

-

Draco continued meandering through the castle; part of him was loath to hurry back to the Great Hall —especially if Nott had gotten there first— but he was also cold, hungry, and eager to get back to the warmth of the first floor.

He sneered at nothing in particular and made his way back toward the main staircase. As he arrived, the front doors swung open, bringing a gust of frigid winter air and… Blaise Zabini.

Draco's jaw dropped. _What in Merlin's name was Blaise doing here?_ He was supposed to be with Potter's Order! And if he had been captured (which seemed the most logical reason as to why he was here) then he certainly should _not_ look like he was getting chummy with the guards. But Blaise wasn't one to get caught by the "wrong sort" (as Nott had once observed). As confusing as it sounded, he would only be captured if he wanted himself to be captured.

Zabini seemed to sense he was being watched; he lifted his head and caught Draco's eye. Obviously misinterpreting the look of shock on Draco's face, Blaise smirked slightly and nodded once.

Draco scowled and rushed down the stairs to meet him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked harshly.

Zabini merely smirked again, "Not pleased to see me? And here I thought you'd be happy I'm joining your Death Eater ranks…."

-

-

-

**Ha ha, I bet you thought Theodore Nott wasn't coming back! I know I wasn't sure. ::wink:: **

**I am so **_**sorry**_** for the wait. School's only been in session for a month and a half and I'm already feeling the strain. I can tell it's going to be a tough year, with updates coming few and far between. Sorry in advance. Besides school, we're short handed at work and I'm picking up a bunch of extra hours. The paycheck's nice but the hours aren't…. But that's the way life happens I guess. **

**I got a message last week filled with some rumors I'd like to dispel here and now. 1. I am NOT giving up on FanFiction or my stories. 2. I don't make my English teacher cry. (I have no clue how I gave anyone **_**that**_** idea.) 3. No, I'm not going to change this from a Blaise/Hermione to a Draco/Hermione. (Again, no clue how anyone got that idea…. Draco and Hermione have seriously had ****one**** interaction in the entire story so far and I even thought it was a stupid one. But hey, whatever floats your boat.) 4. (This is more an answer to a question) I'll probably be wrapping up the story in 3 or 4 more chapters. I have the epilogue and most of the last chapter planned out, it's just a matter of getting there from here.**

**So before I make my author's note longer than the chapter, I'd like to say a few more words. Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak. No, just kidding. A huge THANKS to everyone who has stuck through this story; an even huger THANKS to Serian, my lovely beta; and hugs to my friends who keep on encouraging me. I love you all.**


	10. Veritaserum

**Thanks to Serian, my wonderful beta for keeping this understandable!**

-

-

-

"Not pleased to see me? And here I thought you'd be happy I'm joining your Death Eater ranks…." Zabini said, his words laced with a sarcastic tone.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked again wildly. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"What, I'm not allowed to come back to my own school?" Blaise replied sarcastically. Then his voice took on a more boyish, excited quality, "I've seen the light, Drake. I'm finally doing what you tried to convince me to do years ago; I'm choosing a side."

_This can't be happening_, Draco thought madly. _Blaise is supposed to be the one who holds out on us…_

Turning the men flanking Blaise, Draco said quickly, "Give us a moment?"

Draco prayed that they would comply, but he could only hope for so much; he doubted that these thugs would pass up a chance to bully a boy whose family was now out of favor.

After a moment they nodded briefly and went over to the fireplace at on end of the entrance hall. Huddling as close to it as possible, they stood warming their hands and glancing at the two boys every so often.

Draco grabbed Blaise by the collar and slammed him into the wall. The taller boy looked down at him in shock.

"What the hell was that for?" Blaise said loudly. Draco shushed him hurriedly, glancing nervously at the guards, who were now looking at them, suspicious of the outburst.

"You shouldn't be here!" Draco told him. "I've got to get you ou—"

"And why shouldn't I? You've always wanted me to join up; well here I am, Drake, happy now?" Blaise cut him off, his voice getting progressively louder. "You were right all along about the mudbloods, they're no good; they're just keeping us from what's rightfully ours!"

"Oh yeah?" Draco asked him, cutting off any more loud words that might arouse the guards. "I'm glad you feel that way Zabini, now if you'll just dump Granger, I'll actually believe you."

That shut him up. His eyes flickered with some unknown emotion.

"What do you mean 'dump Granger'?" Blaise said slowly. "I'd never go out with a mudblood like her…."

"Nice recovery, Blaise, really. Would've been better if your face hadn't completely given you away," Draco smirked and let go of the other boy's shirt.

Blaise adjusted the clothing, looking slightly disgruntled. "So what if it was a one time thing? She's not a bad kisser, for a mudblood at least. And she's a pretty easy go. I just thought it'd be fun to mess with her." 

"Right."

Draco turned away from Zabini and checked to make sure the men were still at the fireplace. Facing Blaise once more, he said, "Listen, I know you're lying."

"What—"

"Doesn't matter how I know. We both need to get out of here… _fast_. If you get me to that Order bunch, I have all sorts of information that they'll need. Just get me to them and get out of here yourself."

Blaise looked slack jawed at him.

"Come on!" Draco demanded. "Let's get going."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Blaise asked, eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood quite still looking suspiciously at the shorter boy.

"Feel free to use Veritaserum as soon as we're somewhere safe," Draco said desperately. The men were beginning to look over at them again, mistrustful looks on their faces. "But let's go _now_! They've taken some of the wards down – you can Apparate out."

"Oi!" one of the men shouted. "You've had long enough! It's time to bring you both in." He gestured at the Great Hall, a leery half-grin evident on his dirty face.

The men took their wands out and aimed them at the boys, taking great pleasure in being able to round on Draco as well.

"Not so brave now that Da's on the out, eh?" The larger of their captors sneered at him.

Draco tensed visibly and Blaise decided to take a chance.

"This doesn't mean I trust you again."

Draco nodded and grabbed Blaise's wrist. The men were perhaps five yards from them when Blaise closed his eyes and concentrated very hard on a house he had seen long ago.

-

-

-

**For those of you wondering why Draco's acting kind of bipolar this chapter, it's because he's just suffered an enormous amount of stress. I don't know about anyone else, but when **_**I **_**get stressed I tend to act a tad bipolar…. He'll be better next chapter though. I promise.**


	11. Spider

-

-

-

Blaise and Draco fell roughly onto the concrete pavement of a deserted street. Blaise stood up carefully, brushing his shaggy dark hair from his eyes before helping his friend to his feet.

"Where are we?" Draco asked, looking around at the derelict houses.

"Spinner's End," Blaise said and began walking quickly up the front walk of the house closest to them.

Draco ran a few steps to catch up with him. "Spinner's End? Isn't this where Snape lives?"

Blaise nodded curtly and signaled Draco to be silent. "We'll talk in the house," he said quietly.

Pulling his wand out of his cloak pocket, he tapped the doorknob once, then proceeded to work his way around the rest of the door, muttering complex spells as he went.

After a few tense moments — during which Draco grew increasingly nervous and checked the street almost obsessively — Blaise smirked and opened the door.

Closing it tightly behind them, he said, "You'd think Snape of all people would have better wards on the door…."

Draco nodded distractedly at him; the blond was too busy double-checking the window latches to pay much attention to anything.

"Drake, come on, mate, relax," Blaise said composedly, turning from his examination of the books that lined the walls to look at his friend.

"Please excuse me if it's a little hard for me to relax," Draco said sarcastically, rounding on his companion. "Far be it from me to be concerned about my safety!"

As if on cue they heard a scrabbling from behind the far wall.

Draco jumped, startled by the sudden noise.

Blaise inched forward, the picture of calmness, only his eyes betrayed the anxiety he felt.

The scratching began again, this time accompanied by a weak voice.

"Severus! Is that you? Tell the Dark Lord I'm sorry… I —I beg his forgiveness! I'll do anything — just don't keep me here any longer!" The voice died down to a pitiful wail, terror mixed with despair.

Draco looked up at the wall, realization dawning on his face. "Wormtail?"

"The Malfoy boy? Such a smart boy to find me here…" the voice crooned quietly. Its tone changed suddenly, becoming hard and bitter. "Favored one of the Dark Lord, he'll take your rightful place, Peter… that Brat will…."

The boys looked at each other, confusion clouding their faces.

"AH!" there was a shout and then the voice changed again, taking on the desperate quality once more. "Severus! You must save me! You've no idea the terrible things that I've seen!" The man behind the wall moaned loudly and began to scrape at the wall again, harder than ever before.

"He's gone mad," Blaise said slowly. "That's the only explanation."

Draco nodded, a sickened look on his face. He strode quickly over to the wall and knelt at the bottom of the bookcase, leaning as close to it as possible.

"Wormtail— can you hear me?" He asked loudly.

The scratching stopped abruptly. "Lucius?" Wormtail sounded hopeful.

"No, it's Draco—"

Wormtail interrupted him, terror lacing his next words, "Lucius, you must save me! The Dark Lord, He is punishing me; I didn't obey Him—" he gasped raggedly, as though he was struggling to breathe "—_I must pay the price…._"

Draco looked up at Blaise who had joined him at the wall.

"What do we do?"

"I don't know…" Blaise said, heavily. "If we help him, he might turn us both in—"

"Sounds like he's too far gone to do that," Draco interjected.

"True. But if we set him free, who can tell how long it'll take before _He_ knows. But if we don't—" he was cut off by another scream.

"We have too," Draco said, finality evident in his voice.

Blaise's mouth made a perfect 'o' of shock. Then a smirk stole across his lips, "Am I witnessing Draco Malfoy going soft?" He teased lightly.

Draco frowned, his eyebrows knitting together, "This is no time for games, Blaise, we can hug kittens later."

Blaise grinned at his friend, then began to examine the bookcase.

"Look for some sort of lever or button, there's bound to be a way to get behind the wall… and it's probably very close," he instructed.

"Aye," Draco said, searching the bottom shelves.

"I think I've found something," Blaise said, after a few minutes of quiet searching. "Wait… no, it's just a loose nail."

The boys kept searching. The only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock on the opposite wall. Draco snuck a glance at it, neither of the boys had really noticed it upon entering the house— they had been too distracted with various other things.

Draco moved a few books to the side and felt around the back of the bookcase. Nothing. Damn.

They could hear the labored breathing of the man behind the wall. No longer clawing at the wall, he seemed to understand that the boys were doing their best to rescue him.

Suddenly they heard a click. The bookshelf moved ever so slightly away from the wall. Draco stood up and moved so he could get a better view. The bookcase had separated itself from the wall, they could see in a little ways. Pettigrew was sitting on the floor, shading his eyes from the light.

"What did you press?" Blaise and Draco asked in unison.

"I've no idea, myself," Blaise said, peeking at the side of the case once more. Draco nodded in agreement and slid his finger across the spines of the books on the second shelf.

Turning to Pettigrew, Blaise said, "You can come out now…. Can you walk?"

"Mustn't come out! The Master has ordered me… I must stay," Pettigrew whispered, bringing his fingers to his lips.

Blaise pressed on. "What about the terrible things you've seen? Don't you want—"

Pettigrew moaned softly, his voice sounding more normal. "Oh, you've no idea the things I've seen…. _James!_ James and Lily, they haven't forgotten the horrible things I've done!" His voice changed again, returning to a singsong quality. "Hush Peter, they didn't understand why we had to do it. We had no choice but to lead Him to them… you saved them from a crueler fate, Peter."

Pettigrew nodded, his face blank. Blinking, he was shaken out of his reverie. He glared up at the boys, "I mustn't come out! I _must not_ disobey the Dark Lord! You can't bring me out of here even if you try… the Dark Lord's magic will keep me here, in the Hall of Dreams," his voice tapered off to a hoarse whisper.

Blaise and Draco looked at each other; trying to understand the conflicting information Pettigrew was giving them.

A shout made them turn about quickly.

"NO! Please! Help me! I need to get out of here— I'll go mad if I stay!" Pettigrew pleaded, now rocking back and forth on his knees.

"I think it's a bit late for that," Draco muttered.

Blaise nodded in agreement.

"Do you think we should go in and get him?" Draco asked quietly.

"Might as well try…. He may have information but I doubt it."

"Well… one of us should probably stay out here just in case there's a ward on the doorway…" Draco said, hesitant to enter the secret room.

"You're right," Blaise answered. After a moment he continued, "I'll go in. You're better at charms than I am, so you should be able to break any of the wards."

"Right."

They hesitated again, neither eager to do their part. Finally Blaise moved close to the doorway. He glanced back at his friend and then stepped through to the chamber.

He shuddered; he felt like he had been drenched in cold water.

He shook his head and then looked around for Pettigrew. The man was nowhere to be seen. He looked back through the doorway to where Draco was—except he could no longer see Draco clearly. He could see the faint outline of a human but could make out no details; it was as if a blanket of shadow had been thrown across the entrance.

Blaise stepped back towards the door, hoping to figure out why it was shrouded in mist. All of the sudden he felt a tug backwards—like the feeling of using a port key, only… in the opposite direction.

He fell onto the floor, hitting his head in the process, as the sensation stopped as suddenly as it had started. He sat up with a groan. Rubbing his head, he took stock of his surroundings.

Wait a moment. He knew these halls. He knew that tapestry next to him. Hell, the last time he'd seen it, he'd been saying goodbye to—

"Blaise?" a small voice said uncertainly.

He turned around, looking for the person he knew that voice belonged to.

"Oh Blaise—it _is_ you! I thought it was too good to be true! I knew you'd come back to save me," Hermione flew into his arms.

"Save you? What are you talking about?" Blaise said, looking down at the girl in his arms.

"Of course, you wouldn't know—you've been missing for months—"

"Months? Hermione, what _are _you talking about? I've only been gone for" – he calculated in his head— "four weeks."

Hermione gazed at him sadly, "Professor Dumbledore was right…. He said you'd be a little confused when you got back."

_Months? _He wondered. _Snape's room can't have transported me to Hogwarts _and_ through time… could it? Wait—_

"Dumbledore? What? How were you talking to Dumbledore?"

"His portrait; Professor McGonagall let me into the office."

"Oh," Blaise said slowly.

"But Blaise, you've come for me and that's all that matters. I'll explain it all later—first we've _got _to get out of here!"

"Is Voldemort still here? I was just arriving… this morning, actually… but I had to Apparate out before I could do anything."

"Yes, he's still here," Hermione said quickly. "That's exactly why we have to get out!"

She tugged on his hand, trying to pull him along the corridor.

"Wait—if Voldemort's here… why are you here?" Blaise said abruptly.

"Harry, Ron and I had to come and —well, I can't really tell you. But Harry's been captured, I don't know where Ron is, and I just barely escaped, I had to use Harry's Invisib—but I can't tell you that either," she looked guiltily up at him. "I'm really sorry."

Suddenly they heard shouts from up the corridor.

"You take the fourth floor, make sure you check the classrooms! Macnair: take the left wing, I'll take the right."

Several more voices called their assent.

Hermione's eyes grew wide, "Come on, Blaise!" she repeated, tugging once more on his hand. "We're _in_ the right wing,"

"I know that voice," Blaise said suddenly. "Where do I know that voice from?"

"I've no idea, but it's not important now! Let's go!" Hermione moaned.

"I think I hear something!" the commanding voice called out.

Blaise instinctively pushed Hermione down the corridor, "Run! I'll catch up to you."

"_No_! I can't lose you again – I'll stay here and fight."

"Hermione, _go_!"

She hesitated for a second and then followed his order, running down the corridor as quickly as she could. She had left not a moment too soon; footsteps were fast approaching.

Blaise whirled around, wand clenched tightly in his hand, but relaxed slightly when he saw it was only Mairi. He lowered his wand,

"Is the Order here too?' he asked, breathing hard.

"It doesn't matter…" Mairi said quietly, keeping her wand raised level with his chest.

"What are you talking about? Of course it matters! Now is the Order here or not?"

"The Order's of no concern to you. Everything's been taken care of… the Order's off fighting, and now it's just you and me," Mairi replied (too calmly, Blaise thought), walking a slow circle around him in the narrow hallway.

"Mairi, what are you doing? You don't need to fight me… we're on the same side. You know about the mission, you know I'm not really a Death Eater," Blaise explained hurriedly, shoving his wand into the pocket of his robe.

"I know," she said simply. "But you're wrong: we're not on the same side." She pointed her wand at his heart. "You see, I've never really thought that the Order had a chance of 'winning' this little War. How could they? They're facing the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time."

She cast a body bind spell on him, too quickly for him to repel it.

"I've _seen_ what he can do, Zabini, and it isn't fun and games. This is the _real_ power of the future!"

She strolled over and pulled his wand out of his pocket, twirling it between her fingers.

"The Ministry? They're nothing but a load of unorganized old _fools_. And if you think that they have even a prayer of survival, you're more stupid than I initially thought you were."

She crouched next to his head, "Now I'm off to find your little girlfriend… she's proving to be annoyingly elusive. So, unfortunately, I'll have to leave you all by your lonesome. Do you think you'll miss me?" She smirked at him, at the hatred in his eyes. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon enough."

Mairi looked thoughtfully for a moment at her prey. "Though, I think I'll leave you a little present… just so you don't get bored."

She stood and aimed her wand at his left leg, "_Sectumsempra_."

Wand still drawn, she slashed the crude image of a lightning bolt onto his calf.

Blood oozed out of the wound, leaving Blaise's eyes squeezed shut at the pain and Mairi sneering down at him in satisfaction.

"D'you like it? Professor Snape's been teaching me a few little tricks—and what can I say, I'm a fast learner." As if it was an afterthought she added, "The design was my idea though; now you can match your hero, Harry Potter."

Blaise grimaced and opened his eyes a centimeter. He fought the binding curse as hard as he could, but it was impossible. The gash on his leg was rapidly draining him of energy.

Mairi cast one more condescending smirk down at him and then ran off down the corridor.

-

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-

Hermione swerved around a suit of armor, skidded to a stop by the tapestry of Salazar Slytherin, and flat out ran down the Potions corridor.

She gasped for breath as she hurtled into an empty classroom and hid behind the teacher's huge desk.

The footfalls she had heard behind her were rapidly gaining the hallway.

Hermione held her breath as her seeker entered the room. Like predator stalking prey, the other person slunk about the deserted classroom, searching for its quarry.

Only when the footsteps finally turned around and marched off down the corridor did she let out a long, deep breath of relief. She waited a few minutes longer than cautiously lowered her head to look under the edge of the desk. Double-checking that the room was indeed empty, she exited her hiding place at last.

She crawled out from under the desk and stood up, her back to the rest of the room. All the sudden she felt the wind get knocked out of her as she was slammed roughly into the wall. She craned her neck, trying to see who had caught her off guard.

A girl was sitting cross-legged on top of the desk she had been under. A smug triumphant look covered her face.

"Gotcha."

-

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-

Hermione winced as her small body was smashed once again against the dungeon wall. She couldn't think how long she had been down here, how long she had been tortured. All she could feel was the immense pain that was consuming her whole being.

A slight smile played on the lips of the girl in front of her. She ended the curse, giving Hermione a momentary respite.

Hermione was breathing heavily, attempting to obtain the oxygen her body so badly needed. Her lungs burned as she inhaled—she must have broken a few ribs….

The other girl's voice brought her attention back to the matter at hand.

"Miss Hermione Granger…. And here I thought you'd prove harder to find. I guess it turns out you just have to know where to look," the girl raised her wand, as she did so, Hermione slid further up the wall as if pulled by invisible ropes.

"But where are my manners?" the girl said, her smile evolving into a smirk. "It appears you're at a slight disadvantage, Miss Granger; you see, I know who you are, but you don't know me." With a flick of her wand, she released Hermione from the wall, dropping her roughly onto the dungeon floor. Another flick and she had put Hermione in a full-body bind. "Now let's get all these formalities out of the way, shall we?"

The girl gave a mock bow, "Allow me to introduce myself. Mairi Edwards. And I'm here to kill you, Miss Granger."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, this couldn't be the Mairi that Blaise had shouted to back in the corridor where she'd left him.

"You… Blaise?" she managed to ask.

"Yes, I know him. Unfortunately. That little blood traitor."

"He _isn't_," she ground out, through clenched teeth.

"Consorting with you? I rather think he is…. Sorry to disappoint you, deary."

Hermione struggled against the magical bonds holding her tightly to the wall.

"He's only a traitor if he doesn't fight for what he believes in!" She retorted coldly.

Mairi clapped slowly, "Oh Brava. He's fighting for what he believes in… hate to break it to you, love, but your oh so noble boyfriend merely took a gamble on the winning side. Bit of a pity really… he has some talent. But it's not my problem if he chose the wrong side."

"By wrong side you mean the side with _morals_?" Hermione snapped at her captor.

"Oh don't even bother!" the other girl barked. "Have you heard of some of the atrocities your moral saints have committed? Or have they deemed you too innocent for such grisly tales? Believe you me, Miss Granger, your lot aren't nearly as high-minded as they'd like you to think."

"Oh that's rich, coming from a Death Eater trainee," Hermione felt an invisible rope tighten around her throat but pressed on. "Isn't the initiation ceremony coupled with some sort of recreational killing? Free range Muggles? Kill all you can carry?!"

The rope was now squeezing her neck quite forcefully; she could feel her lungs losing air.

"My, my, you're becoming quite a cynic there. Whatever shall we do about that?" She tapped her chin in mock-thought. "Here's an idea," she moved up next to Hermione and grabbed her chin roughly, forcing the girl on the wall to look at her. "I could cut out your tongue so you never have to speak such distasteful words again; or I could remove your ears… so that you can remain ignorant. You seem to enjoy that."

"Ignorant?! Ignorant of what exactly? Of the fact that people like you are killing innocent Muggle-borns and anyone else that you decide isn't up to you standards? _Murdering_ anyone who—"

Slap!

Hermione's head flew back against the wall, a scarlet handprint on her cheek. Her eyes were wide in surprise.

"Don't you _dare_ accuse me of things you don't understand!" Mairi hissed at her. "I _had_ been ordered to take you alive, but for _that_ I'm willing to disregard my orders, no matter the price I'll have to pay personally."

A twisted half-smile played across her lips, "But I will give your regards to your boyfriend when I go play with him later."

"This—all of this—it's just a game to you, isn't it?" Hermione said hoarsely. "None of this is real for you—it's just a warped sort of game."

"Oh it's very real—but I've seen enough of the horrors of this world that I just don't care. I would say that someday you'd understand, but I can't… because you won't. Understand, that is…. You won't be able to understand because I'm going to kill you," Mairi's hand slipped from Hermione's cheek to her throat.

"You're… you're sick," Hermione choked out.

"Well, look at it this way, love: at least I'll do it fast. I don't believe in wasting time with torture."

"And torture is different than what you're doing now?"

"Good point…. Well, I'll wrap it up here and get back to my business with dear Mr. Zabini. I did promise him I'd be back soon. I can see it now, I'll find him and I'll tell him how I was too late, how I arrived just in time to see a Death Eater drop your mangled body to the floor. And when he cries and tells me how he loved you, how sad he is, and how he wishes he could've said good-bye, well, I'll kill him too. Good-bye, Miss Granger," Mairi said coolly.

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**Please don't kill me…. I've got the last two chapters all planned out and I've even got the very last one written! (Go me.) I'll be finishing chapter 12 in the next week or so. **

**By the way, I figured I owed you all some sort of explanation for why I up and disappeared for the past few months. I realize that it's highly annoying when authors do that and I'm sorry. But the last few months haven't been fun. My grandfather died a week after I posted chapter 10, so life got really crazy…. And then I've had piano competitions and school and college visits and the list goes on. In short, I just haven't had the time to come on and just write. Again, I'm sorry. But rest assured I'll be finishing this fic up soon. **

**Thanks again to Serian who has kindly beta'd and encouraged me along the way.**


	12. Pensieve

Mairi pursed her lips as she left the Potions dungeon. She was becoming much too word-y.

_I don't know what it is, but there's something about this job that makes my tongue flap._

Maybe it was the unbelievable rush of adrenaline… _that could be it_.

Well, no matter what the reason, she had to learn to control her tongue. There were some things that must be done quickly… killing was one of them.

She was soon back in the corridor in which she had left Blaise. Time to have a bit of fun….

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Whilst Mairi had been gone, Blaise had not been idle. Though it had been a great strain, he had managed to use some basic wandless magic to partly heal his leg wound. It was still messy, but infinitely better than having blood gushing all over.

He lay quietly, hoping to regain some strength.

His body tensed every time he heard footsteps, hoping against hope that it was Hermione (or really _anyone_ who wasn't a Death Eater), but no one entered the lonely corridor.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Mairi came waltzing up the hall, her gate not matching her expression. Her face was arranged to be sad— lips drawn close, eyes down turned, forehead creased— but it came across as more of a pained look.

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"Oh good, you're still here!" She said, sounding much too pleased with herself. "But I have bad news for you, I'm afraid. I found Hermione… and she's dead."

Silence.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Here, _finite incantatem_."

"You're joking," Blaise said simply. He refused to believe it. It couldn't be true; people didn't just walk up to you and out-and-out say 'nice to see you, someone you care about died.' It just didn't happen like that.

"No, unfortunately, I'm not," Mairi looked plaintively at him. "I found her just as a Death Eater was finishing her off…. I'll spare you the details."

"So _you_ killed her." It was more a statement than a question.

"I didn't say that. I said a Death Eater killed her. There is a difference."

"Not from where I'm standing."

"Well, if that's how you feel, I won't try to change your mind…." She said adopting a regretful expression. She continued on conversationally, her tone again at odds with her appearance. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take you down to the Hall… I'll probably be rewarded for catching you, you know. You're not exactly a high-profile capture, but it'll do…. It should get better when they find out about Granger."

She helped Blaise up and tied his wrists with a flick of her wand. Tethering the end of the rope to her own wrist, she then began down the corridor again, Blaise following meekly behind her.

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Blaise Zabini was anything but meek. He may have been hobbling along behind Mairi, but his brain was turning in circles, trying to figure a way to escape. A way to find Hermione.

Unfortunately, he was finding it difficult to think—the pain in his leg kept cutting through any and all coherent thoughts.

Mairi pulled him into the former Great Hall, now dark and shadowy.

She led him almost to the front of the Hall, elbowing her way through the small crowd.

She stopped in front of a large throne and fell to her knees, arms outstretched, face to the ground. She gave the rope a sharp tug, bringing Blaise to the floor as well.

"My Lord," Mairi said reverently.

"Yes, faithful one?" An icy voice answered.

"I have returned, my Lord, with a prisoner, Blaise Zabini."

"You may rise."

She did so, leaving Blaise on the floor. She carefully averted her eyes, seemingly in awe of her master. Blaise thought she had never looked more like a little girl—cheeks flushed, nervous at meeting an idol.

"Rise, boy," the voice commanded.

Mairi dragged him up by the rope.

Blaise stared defiantly up at the Dark Lord, as if daring him to kill.

Voldemort smirked imperiously. Turning to Mairi, he said, "And what of the other one? I was told that _two_ were wandering my castle."

"I have killed her, my Lord. Her body is in the Potions dungeon, I—"

"Show us."

Mairi bowed, looking slightly flustered. She knelt once more and put her wand to her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut in concentration and then pulled what appeared to be a thin, silvery rope from her temple. Its sinews glistened in the half-light of the room as she carried it carefully over to the Pensieve that stood on a stool to the side of the dais.

The contents of the bowl swirled slowly around, lapping the edges. An image rose out of the depths revolving at a snail's pace; as it spun the image gained both color and clarity, going from a grainy, black and white to a vividly colored scene. Gradually it stopped spinning and began to play out the memory.

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_Mairi rounded the corridor that led toward the dungeons, grasping the edge of a statue to propel herself around it. She caught a glimpse of a bushy haired girl running, terrified, turning a corner at the end of the hallway. _

Good, she'd almost caught up.

_Pushing herself to run faster, Mairi was barely in time to see which classroom the other girl entered._

_Mairi entered the Potions classroom and immediately knew where her quarry had hidden. The only place big enough for anyone to effectively hide themselves was behind the oversize desk that sat in front of the blackboard. _

_She stopped abruptly and slipped her shoes off, holding them tightly in one hand as she made her way over to the desk. Once she was in front of it, she placed the shoes on the ground and whispered a spell. Then, as she climbed up on top of the desk, her shoes walked out of the classroom and down the corridor by themselves. _

_She crossed her legs and settled more comfortably onto the wooden desk._

_Not two minutes later, her naïve little prisoner crawled out from under the desk and stood up, not even bothering to turn and check that she was alone. _

The fool.

_Mairi raised her wand and with a casual flick of the wrist had sent the smaller girl smashing into the dungeon wall. The girl peeked under her arm in an effort to discover who had found her. Mairi allowed herself one moment of triumph, relishing the flood of emotion that went racing through her veins. _

"_Gotcha."_

_The girl's eyes widened as an almost feral grin spread itself across Mairi's lips._

_She lifted her wand once more and uttered one word more._

"Crucio_."_

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Blaise squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to witness any more. Unfortunately he could do nothing to block the sound of Hermione's screams of agony.

For the next few minutes, he alternated between wanting to wrench his eyelids open and tear someone limb from limb and wanting to crawl into a corner and hide from the whole world. He could still hear Memory-Hermione's screams, mingled with the sick laughing of some of the Death Eaters.

He began to work on the ropes binding his wrists together. Might as well try and loosen them while no one was really paying any attention to him.

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"… _Good-bye, Miss Granger."_

_Green light filled the dungeon and suddenly everything went very still._

_Mairi seemed to have frozen; her wand still in position, as though she'd been petrified the moment she had preformed the curse._

_Then slowly, she lowered her arm and a smile crept onto her face. She released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding; the dungeon, which had gone impossibly quiet, seemed to be filled with the sound of her now heavy breathing._

_Still grinning, she turned and fairly skipped out of the dungeon, riding the adrenaline rush that the kill had given her. She ducked around a corner and pulled up the edge of a long tapestry, exposing a hidden door. Climbing into it she—_

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The Dark Lord stopped the memory with a wave of his hand. The hall seemed to grow lighter; all around the room people were looking around as though they had been in a trance.

Voldemort gazed contemplatively at the young woman in front of him. She was so eager to please him… she wasn't good for much, but at least she managed to capture the boy.

Finally he spoke.

"I seem to remember saying that I wanted them_ both_ alive…."

Mairi's eyes grew wide as she realized the danger she had put herself in.

'I'm sorry my lord; it shan't happen again. I was caught up in —"

"Silence."

The entire room went quiet. The Dark Lord had not spoken loudly, but even a whisper was enough to control his servants.

"You have left me with quite a dilemma, my _dear_. I ask for two prisoners, you bring me one. That is a punishable offence. I order you not to kill, but take them both alive and you disregard me. Whatever shall I do with you?" he said in a teasingly soft voice.

Blaise shuddered. Voldemort's manner was that of a chiding guardian, but his mere presence was enough to command the respect of an army – his army.

"I shall be needing a replacement for the dearly departed Miss Granger… I think you shall do quite nicely, Miss Edwards. Rookwood! Take our new guest and make sure she is comfortable."

"What? No! You can't do this to me—I've been loyal to you since the start!"

"I think you'll find that I do not tolerate failure, Miss Edwards… I believe Lucius Malfoy will be able to explain further once you reach the dungeons."

He watched impassively as Rookwood dragged her from the hall, cackling all the way. Once the great doors had shut behind them he lowered his eyes to the Death Eaters in front of him.

"Young Nott… take Mr. Zabini down to our _best_ rooms, no doubt he will want to clean himself up after his long journey."

The surrounding Death Eaters started laughing and jeering as Theodore Nott came over and hauled Blaise onto his feet.

The Dark Lord sat back down on his throne and summoned a nearby Death Eater to him.

As Blaise was pulled from the hall, he overheard the order given.

"Inform the others, we will take no chances. The girl might have been able to notify the Ministry before she died; we attack at sunset tomorrow."

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"Thought you'd get away, didn't you?" Theodore Nott said, trying to goad the other boy.

Blaise said nothing.

"Didn't think you'd get caught, eh?" Nott tried again, almost desperate for a response.

Still nothing.

"Listen you, you'll pay attention when I'm talking to you! None of this silent tripe you'd always pull at school."

No reply.

"Did you hear me? When I'm talking to you, you'll answer me, hear?" He struck Blaise in the face.

In a moment he was lying, dazed, flat on his back on the floor.

As soon as Nott had hit him Blaise had reacted; pulling free of the loosened rope, he swung his fist out, catching Nott in the stomach. With his other arm he flattened him with a sharp blow to the side of the head.

As fast as he could, he bound Nott with the same rope that had been around his own wrists a second ago. Relieving the other Slytherin of his wand, Blaise cast a silencing charm on him and pushed him under the teacher's desk in the nearest classroom. He gazed hard at the other boy, wanting desperately to exact some sort of revenge.

Finally, after precious seconds had ticked by, Blaise raised the confiscated wand and whispered, "This is for Hermione."

Nott started wriggling, fruitlessly trying to get out of the way of the curse he knew was coming.

"_Petrificus Totalus_."

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Blaise was back in the corridor where it had all begun. However this time, instead of noticing the rain or wrapping his arms around Hermione, he was looking for a way out. He was desperately searching for the way back to Spinner's End.

After minutes of unsuccessful searching, he knew he could waste no more time.

"Draco! Draco, if you can hear me, I need help. I'm trapped in here!"

Nothing.

He slumped against the wall, ready to give up. He couldn't go on much longer, his leg was beginning to ache again and was rapidly running out of energy. Any chance he had of escaping was slipping away.

His vision began to grow cloudy, he could hear a commotion a ways off, but he didn't stand.

_So tired._

He couldn't stand. It was all so pointless; he couldn't even begin to fight them anymore.

Then as he was slipping into the dim world between consciousness and the blissful dark, the stonewall opposite him began to move. The bricks slid into a doorway, the stones turned to wood, and Draco stepped out into the corridor.

"Leave me," Blaise said thickly. "They've killed Hermione…. They're going to attack the Ministry…."

"I'm here now, Blaise, I've got you. I'm taking you back. Can you throw your arm around my neck?"

Blaise nodded slowly and raised his arm. His whole body felt like lead, he could barely move. He saw Draco mouth something at him, but couldn't comprehend what it was he had said. A loud buzzing sound filled his ears and then an earth-shattering silence.

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**The last of my awful cliffhangers. I'm sure we're all pleased (me most of all). I'm going to put my final note in this chapter as I'd like the very last chapter to remain as pure as possible, I think it'll be easier to process that way. **

**Thanks to those who reviewed, specifically AlifeOfShadows and I Own the Python's Cheese Shop who have been there since the beginning. Thanks to Serian, for being my beta—you've been a wonderful positive force. And lastly, thanks to you, the reader, who has put up with my sporadic updates, tangled up plots, and messy cliffhangers. There's one more surprise left to come.**

**Anyway, I've enjoyed this, but I'm oh so glad it's done. Like I said in the very first chapter, I'm much more a humor person. I find it terribly hard to write this angsty drama stuff. I hope you liked it; please leave me a review—I'd love to hear your thoughts.**


	13. Revelation

Blaise awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and heart pounding

Blaise awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and heart pounding. He threw off the covers and grabbed his wand, whispering a soft '_lumos'_ and then kneeling to examine his left leg.

The skin was unblemished.

_So it was all a dream. _

He stood quietly and pointed his wand at the calendar that was pinned to the wall. It was opened to the July page.

_It all seemed so real though._

Voldemort taking Hogwarts; Draco switching sides; that girl, Mairi—he'd never heard of her before; Pettigrew trapped in Snape's secret room.

His mother's ring (_what significance had that held_, he wondered)…. As far as he could remember the ring had been pawned by his mother's last suitor.

Hermione lying, dead, on the floor of the dungeons.

Forgetting that his wand was still lit, he turned to face his very pregnant wife were she lay asleep in their bed.

She stirred as the light hit her face.

"Blaise?" she said groggily. "What's wrong, darling?"

She yawned widely. He smiled.

"Nothing—everything's fine. I'm just happy to see you."

"You can be happy in the morning. Come back to bed," she patted the mattress next to her.

He nodded and extinguished his wand, laying it back on the bedside table. Climbing back into bed he drew Hermione close to him and buried his face in her hair.

"I love you," he whispered to her.

She rolled over to face him again, slowed by her swollen belly. "What prompted that?"

"Can't I tell my wife I love her?" He pouted playfully.

"It's quite unlike you," she explained. "I mean, I know you do, but you hardly ever say it. So I repeat: what prompted that?"

He hugged her close again.

"Just a dream… that's all."

_**Fin**_


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